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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


BETTY   LEICESTER 


A  STORY  FOR  GIRLS 


SARAH   ORNE  JEWETT 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


Copyright,  1889, 
BY  SARAH  ORNE  JEWETT. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  £L  O.  Houghtou  &  Company. 


WITH  LOVE  TO 


ONE  OF  THE  FIRST  OF  BETTY'S  FRIENDS. 


730582 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

I.  As  FAB  AS  RlVERPOBT           ....             1 

II.    THF>  PACKET  BOAT 17 

III.  A  BIT  OF  COLOR 28 

IV.  TlDBSHEAD 40 

V.    AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE 50 

VI.    THE  GARDEN  TEA 60 

VII.    THE  SIN  BOOKS 72 

VIII.  A  CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS        .        .        .        .93 

IX.  BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS         ....      108 

X.    UP-COUNTRY 137 

XI.    THE  Two  FRIENDS 158 

XII.    BETTY  AT  HOME 171 

XIII.  A  GREAT  EXCITEMENT       ....      185 

XIV.  THE  OUT-OF-DOOR  CLUB        .        .        .        .209 
XV.  THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN         .        .        .      221 

XVI.    DOWN  THE  RIVER 239 

XVH.  GOING  AWAY      .               ....      276 


BETTY  LEICESTER 


AS  FAB  AS  RIVERPORT. 

Two  persons  sat  at  a  small  breakfast-table 
near  an  open  window,  high  up  in  Young's  Ho- 
tel in  Boston.  It  was  a  pleasant  June  morn- 
ing, just  after  eight  o'clock,  and  they  could  see 
the  white  clouds  blowing  over ;  but  the  gray 
walls  of  the  Court  House  were  just  opposite, 
so  that  one  cannot  say  much  of  their  view 
of  the  world.  The  room  was  pleasanter  than 
most  hotel  rooms,  and  the  persons  at  breakfast 
were  a  girl  of  fifteen,  named  Betty  Leicester, 
and  her  father.  Their  friends  thought  them 
both  good-looking,  but  it  ought  to  be  revealed 
in  this  story  just  what  sort  of  good  looks  they 
had,  since  character  makes  the  expression  of 
people's  faces.  But  this  we  can  say,  to  begin 


2  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

with:  they  had  eyes  very  much  alike,  very 
kind  and  frank  and  pleasant,  and  they  had  a 
good  fresh  color,  as  if  they  spent  much  time 
out-of-doors.  In  fact,  they  were  just  off  the 
sea,  having  come  in  only  two  days  before  on 
the  Catalonia  from  Liverpool ;  and  the  Cata- 
lonia, though  very  comfortable,  had  made  a 
slower  voyage  than  some  steamers  do  in  com- 
ing across. 

They  had  nearly  finished  breakfast,  but 
Betty  was  buttering  one  more  nice  bit  of  toast 
to  finish  her  marmalade,  while  Mr.  Leicester 
helped  himself  to  more  strawberries.  They 
both  looked  a  little  grave,  as  if  something  im- 
portant were  to  be  done  when  breakfast  was 
over;  and  if  you  had  sat  in  the  third  place 
by  the  table,  and,  instead  of  looking  out  of 
the  window,  had  looked  to  right  and  left  into 
the  bedrooms  that  opened  at  either  hand,  you 
would  guess  the  reason.  In  Betty's  room,  on 
her  table,  were  her  ulster  and  her  umbrella 
and  her  traveling-bag  beside  a  basket,  these 
last  being  labeled  "  Miss  E.  Leicester,  Tides- 
head  ; "  and  in  the  room  opposite  was  a  corre- 
sponding array,  excepting  that  the  labels  read, 
"T.  Leicester,  Windsor  Hotel,  Montreal." 


AS  FAR  AS  RIVERPORT.  3 

So  for  once  the  girl  and  her  father  were  going 
in  different  directions. 

"  Papa,  dear,"  said  Betty,  "  how  long  will  it 
be  before  you  can  tell  about  coming  back  from 
Alaska?" 

"Perhaps  I  shall  know  in  a  month,"  said 
Mr.  Leicester;  "but  you  understand  that  it 
will  not  be  like  a  journey  through  civilized 
countries,  and  there  are  likely  to  be  many  hin- 
drances and  delays.  Beside,  you  must  count 
upon  our  finding  everything  enormously  inter- 
esting. I  shall  try  hard  not  to  forget  how 
interesting  a  waiting  young  somebody  called 
Betty  is!" 

Betty  made  an  attempt  to  smile,  but  she  be- 
gan to  feel  very  dismal.  "  The  aunts  will  ask 
me,  you  know,  papa  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
sure  that  Aunt  Barbara  felt  a  little  grumpy 
about  your  not  coming  now." 

"  Dear  Aunt  Barbara ! "  said  Mr.  Leicester 
seriously ;  "  I  wish  that  I  could  have  managed 
it,  but  I  will  stay  long  enough  to  make  up, 
when  I  get  back  from  the  North." 

"  Your  birthday  is  the  first  of  September  ; 
thirty-nine  this  year,  you  poor  old  thing !  Oh 
if  we  could  only  have  the  day  in  Tideshead, 


4  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

it  would  be  such  fun  !  "  Betty  looked  more 
cheerful  again  with  this  hope  taking  possession 
of  her  mind. 

"You  are  always  insisting  upon  my  having 
a  new  birthday ! "  said  Mr.  Leicester,  deter- 
mined upon  being  cheerful  too.  "  You  will 
soon  be  calling  me  your  grandfather.  I  mean 
to  expect  a  gold-headed  cane  for  my  present 
this  year.  Now  we  must  be  getting  ready  for 
the  station,  dear  child.  I  am  sure  that  we 
shall  miss  each  other,  but  I  will  do  things  for 
you  and  you  will  do  things  for  me,  won't  you, 
Betsey?"  and  he  kissed  her  affectionately, 
while  Betty  clung  fast  to  him  with  both  arms 
tight  round  his  neck.  Somehow  she  never  had 
felt  so  badly  at  saying  good-by. 

"  And  you  will  be  very  good  to  the  old 
aunts  ?  Remember  how  fond  they  have  always 
been  of  your  dear  mamma  and  of  me,  and 
how  ready  they  are  to  give  you  all  their  love. 
I  think  you  can  grow  to  be  a  very  great  com- 
fort to  them  and  a  new  pleasure.  They  must 
really  need  you  to  play  with." 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door;  the 
porter  came  in  and  carried  away  a  high-heaped 
armful  from  Betty's  room.  "  Carriage  is  ready 


AS  FAR  AS  RIVERPORT.  5 

at  the  door,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Plenty  of  time, 
sir ; "  and  then  went  hurrying  away  again  to 
summon  somebody  else.  Betty's  eyes  were  full 
of  tears  when  she  came  out  of  her  room  and 
met  papa,  who  was  just  looking  at  his  watch 
in  the  little  parlor. 

"  Say 4  God  bless  you,  Betty,'  "  she  managed 
to  ask. 

"  God  bless  you,  Betty,  my  dear  Betty ! " 
Mr.  Leicester  said  gravely.  "  God  bless  you, 
dear,  and  make  you  a  blessing." 

"  Papa  dear,  I  was  n't  really  crying.  You 
know  that  you  're  coming  back  within  three 
months,  and  we  shall  be  writing  letters  all  the 
time,  and  Tideshead  is  n't  like  a  strange  place." 

"  Dear  me,  no !  you  '11  never  wish  to  come 
away  from  Tideshead ;  give  it  my  love,  and 
'  call  every  bush  my  cousin,' "  answered  Mr. 
Leicester  gayly  as  they  went  down  in  the  ele- 
vator. The  trying  moment  of  the  real  good- 
by  was  over,  and  the  excitement  and  interest 
of  Betty's  journey  had  begun.  She  liked  the 
elevator  boy  and  had  time  to  find  a  bit  of 
money  for  him,  that  being  the  best  way  to  rec- 
ognize his  politeness  and  patience.  "Thank 
you ;  good-by,"  she  said  pleasantly  as  she  put 


6  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

it  into  his  hand.  She  was  hoarding  the  min- 
utes that  were  left,  and  tried  to  remember  the 
things  that  she  wished  to  say  to  papa  as  they 
drove  to  the  Eastern  Station  ;  but  the  minutes 
flew  by,  and  presently  Mr.  Leicester  was  left 
on  the  platform  alone,  while  the  cars  moved 
away  with  his  girl.  She  waved  her  hand  and 
papa  lifted  his  hat  once  more,  though  he  had 
already  lost  sight  of  her,  and  so  they  parted. 
The  girl  thought  it  was  very  hard.  She  won- 
dered all  over  again  if  she  could  n't  possibly 
have  gone  on  the  long  journey  to  the  far 
North  which  she  had  heard  discussed  so  often 
and  with  such  enthusiasm.  It  seemed  wrong 
and  unnatural  that  she  and  her  father  should 
not  always  be  together  everywhere. 

It  was  very  comfortable  in  the  train,  and 
the  tide  was  high  among  the  great  marshes. 
The  car  was  not  very  full  at  first,  but  at  one 
or  two  stations  there  were  crowds  of  people, 
and  Betty  soon  had  a  seat-mate,  a  good-natured 
looking,  stout  woman,  who  was  inclined  to  be 
very  sociable.  She  was  a  little  out  of  breath 
and  much  excited. 

"  Would  you  like  to  sit  next  the  window  ?  " 
inquired  Betty. 


AS  FAR  AS  RIVERPORT.  1 

"  No,  lem  me  set  where  I  be,"  replied  the 
anxious  traveler.  "  'T  is  as  well  one  place  as 
another.  I  feel  terrible  unsartin'  on  the  cars. 
I  don't  expect  you  do  ?  " 

"  Not  very,"  said  Betty.  "  I  have  never  had 
anything  happen." 

"  You  b'en  on  'em  before,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Betty. 

"  Ever  b'en  in  Boston  ?  —  perhaps  you  come 
from  that  way  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  there  this  morning,  but  I  am 
on  my  way  from  London  to  Tideshead."  Some- 
how this  announcement  sounded  ostentatious, 
and  Betty,  being  modest,  regretted  it. 

"  What  London  do  you  refer  to  ? "  asked 
the  woman,  and,  having  been  answered,  said, 
"  Oh,  bless  ye  !  when  it  comes  to  seafarin'  I  'm 
right  to  home,  I  tell  you.  I  did  n't  know  but 
you  'd  had  to  come  from  some  o'  them  Lon- 
dons  out  West ;  all  the  way  by  cars.  I  've  got 
a  sister  that  lives  to  London,  lowy  ;  she  comes 
East  every  three  or  four  year  ;  passes  two  days 
an'  two  nights,  I  believe  't  is,  on  the  cars; 
makes  nothin'  of  it.  I  ain't  been  no  great  of 
a  traveler.  Creation  's  real  queer,  ain't  it !  " 

Betty's  fellow-traveler  was  looking  earnestly 


8  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

at  the  green  fields,  and  seemed  to  express 
everything  she  felt  of  wonder  and  interest  by 
her  last  remark,  to  which  Betty  answered 
"yes,"  with  a  great  shake  of  laughter  —  and 
hoped  that  there  would  be  still  more  to  say. 

"  Have  you  been  to  sea  a  good  deal  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Lor'  yes,  dear.  Father  owned  two  thirds 
o'  the  ship  I  was  born  on,  and  bought  into  an- 
other when  she  got  old,  an'  I  was  married  off  o' 
her ;  the  Sea  Queen,  Dexter,  master,  she  was. 
Then  I  sailed  'long  o'  my  husband  till  the 
child'n  begun  to  come  an'  I  found  there  was 
some  advantages  in  bringin'  up  a  family  on 
shore,  so  I  settled  down  for  a  spell ;  but  just 
as  I  got  round  to  leavin'  and  goin'  back,  my 
husband  got  tired  o'  the  sea  and  shippin'  all 
run  down,  so  home  he  come,  and  you  would  n't 
know  us  now  from  shorefolks.  Pretty  good 
sailor,  be  ye  ?  "  (looking  at  Betty  sharply). 

"  Yes,  I  love  the  sea,"  said  Betty. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  her  new  friend  ad- 
miringly, and  then  took  a  long  breath  and  got 
out  of  her  gloves. 

"Your  father  a  shipmaster?"  she  contin- 
ued. 


AS  FAR  AS  EIVERPORT.  9 

"  No,"  said  Betty  humbly. 

"  What  trade  does  he  follow  ?  " 

"  He  has  written  some  books ;  he  is  a  nat- 
uralist ;  but  papa  can  do  almost  anything," 
replied  Betty  proudly. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  the  traveler  again. 
"  Well,  I  don't  realize  just  what  naturalists 
hold  to ;  there  's  too  many  sects  a-goin'  nowa- 
days for  me.  I  was  brought  up  good  old-fash- 
ioned Methodist,  but  this  very  mornin'  in  the 
depot  I  was  speakin'  with  a  stranger  that  said 
she  was  a  Calvin- Advent,  and  they  was  increas- 
in'  fast.  She  did  ?pear  as  well  as  anybody ;  a 
nice  appearin'  woman.  Well,  there 's  room  for 
all." 

Betty  was  forced  to  smile,  and  tried  to  hide 
her  face  by  looking  out  of  the  window.  Just 
then  the  conductor  kindly  appeared,  and  so  she 
pulled  her  face  straight  again. 

"  Ain't  got  no  brothers  an'  sisters  ?  "  asked 
the  funny  old  soul. 

"  No,"  said  Betty.  "  Papa  and  I  are  all 
alone." 

"  Mother  ain't  livin'  ?  "  and  the  kind  homely 
face  turned  quickly  toward  her. 

"  She  died  when  I  was  a  baby." 


10  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  My  sakes,  how  you  talk !  Yon  don't  feel 
to  miss  her,  but  she  would  have  set  everything 
by  you."  (There  was  something  truly  affec- 
tionate in  the  way  this  was  said.)  "  All  my 
child'n  are  married  off,"  she  continued.  "  The 
house  seems  too  big  now.  I  do'  know  but 
what,  if  you  don't  like  where  you  're  goin',  I 
will  take  ye  in,  long  's  you  feel  to  stop." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Betty  gratefully. 
''  I  'm  sure  I  should  have  a,  good  time.  I  'm 
going  to  stay  with  my  grand-aunts  this  sum- 
mer. My  father  has  gone  to  Alaska." 

"Oh,  I  do  feel  to  hope  it's  by  sea!"  ex- 
claimed the  listener. 

The  cars  rattled  along  and  the  country  grew 
greener  and  greener.  Betty  remembered  it 
very  well,  although  she  had  not  seen  it  for  four 
years,  so  long  it  was  since  she  had  been  in 
Tideshead  before.  After  seeing  the  stone- 
walled and  thatched  or  tiled  roofs  of  foreign 
countries,  the  wooden  buildings  of  New  Eng- 
land had  a  fragile  look  as  if  the  wind  and  rain 
would  soon  spoil  and  scatter  them.  The  vil- 
lages and  everything  but  some  of  the  very 
oldest  farms  looked  so  new  and  so  temporary 
that  Betty  Leicester  was  much  surprised, 


AS  FAR  AS  RIVERPORT.  11 

knowing  well  that  she  was  going  through  some 
of  the  very  oldest  New  England  towns.  She 
had  a  delightful  sense  of  getting  home  again, 
which  would  have  pleased  her  loyal  father,  and 
indeed  Betty  herself  believed  that  she  could  not 
be  proud  enough  of  her  native  land.  Papa  al- 
ways said  the  faults  of  a  young  country  were 
so  much  better  than  the  faults  of  an  old  one. 
However,  when  the  train  crossed  a  bridge  near 
a  certain  harbor  on  the  way  and  the  young 
traveler  saw  an  English  flag  flying  on  a  ship, 
it  looked  very  pleasant  and  familiar. 

The  morning  was  growing  hot,  and  the 
good  seafarer  in  the  seat  beside  our  friend 
seemed  to  grow  very  uncomfortable.  Her 
dress  was  too  thick,  and  she  was  trying  to 
hold  on  her  bonnet  with  her  chin,  though  it 
slipped  back  farther  and  farther.  Somehow 
a  great  many  women  in  the  car  looked  very 
warm  and  wretched  in  thick  woolen  gowns 
and  unsteady  bonnets.  Nobody  looked  as  if 
she  were  out  on  a  pleasant  holiday  except  one 
neighbor,  a  brisk  little  person  with  a  canary 
bird  and  an  Indian  basket,  out  of  which  she 
now  and  then  let  a  kitten's  head  appear,  long 
enough  to  be  patted  and  then  tucked  back 
again. 


12  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Betty's  companion  caught  sight  of  this  smil- 
ing neighbor  after  a  time  and  expressed  her- 
self as  surprised  that  anybody  should  take 
the  trouble  to  cart  a  kitten  from  town  to 
town,  when  there  were  two  to  every  empty 
saucer  already.  Betty  laughed  and  supposed 
that  she  did  n't  like  cats,  and  was  answered 
gruffly  that  they  were  well  enough  in  their 
place.  It  was  one  of  our  friend's  griefs  that 
she  never  was  sure  of  being  long  enough  in 
one  place  to  keep  a  kitten  of  her  own,  but  the 
pleasant  thought  came  that  she  was  almost 
sure  to  find  some  at  Aunt  Barbara's  where  she 
was  going. 

It  was  not  time  to  feel  hungry,  but  Betty 
caught  sight  of  a  paper  box  which  the  waiter 
had  brought  to  the  carriage  just  as  she  was 
leaving  the  hotel.  She  was  having  a  hot  and 
dusty  search  under  the  car-seat  for  the  sailor 
woman's  purse,  which  had  suddenly  gone  over- 
board from  the  upper  deck  of  her  wide  lap, 
but  it  was  found  at  last,  and  Betty  produced 
the  luncheon-box  too  and  opened  it.  Her  new 
friend  looked  on  with  deep  interest.  "  I  'm 
only  goin  's  far  as  Newburyport,"  she  explained 
eagerly,  "  so  I  'm  not  provided." 


AS  FAR  AS  EIVEEPOET.  13 

"  Papa  knew  that  I  should  be  hungry  by 
noon,"  said  Betty.  "  We  always  try  not  to 
get  too  hungry  when  we  are  traveling  because 
one  gets  so  much  more  tired.  I  always  carry 
some  chocolate  in  my  bag." 

"  I  expect  you  've  had  sights  of  experience. 
You  ain't  be'n  kep'  short,  that 's  plain.  They 
ain't  many  young  gals  looks  so  rugged.  En- 
joy good  health,  dear,  don't  ye  ?  "  which  Betty 
answered  with  enthusiasm. 

The  luncheon  looked  very  inviting  and  Betty 
offered  a  share  most  hospitably,  and  in  spite 
of  its  only  being  a  quarter  before  eleven  when 
the  feast  began,  the  chicken  sandwiches  en- 
tirely disappeared.  There  were  only  four,  and 
half  a  dozen  small  sponge-cakes  which  proved 
to  be  somewhat  dry  and  unattractive. 

"I  only  laid  in  a  light  breakfast,"  apolo- 
gized Betty's  guest.  "  I  'm  obliged  to  you, 
I  'm  sure,  but  then  I  wa'  n't  nigh  so  hungry 
as  when  I  got  adrift  once,  in  an  open  boat, 
for  two  days  and  a  night,  and  they  give  me 
up" 

But  at  this  moment  the  train  man  shouted 
"  Newburyport,"  as  if  there  were  not  a  min- 
ute to  be  lost,  and  the  good  soul  gathered 


14  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

her  possessions  in  a  great  hurry,  dropping 
her  purse  again  twice,  and  letting  fall  bits  of 
broken  sentences  with  it  from  which  Betty 
could  gather  only  "The  fog  come  in,"  and 
"  coast  o'  France,"  and  then,  as  they  said  good- 
by,  "  't  was  so  divertin'  ridin'  along  that  I 
took  no  note  of  stoppin'."  After  they  had 
parted  affectionately,  she  stood  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  at  the  door  of  the  still  moving 
train,  nodding  and  bobbing  her  kind  old  head 
at  her  young  fellow -passenger  whenever  they 
caught  each  other's  eye.  Betty  was  sorry  to 
lose  this  new  friend  so  soon,  and  felt  more 
lonely  than  ever.  She  wished  that  they  had 
known  each  other's  names,  and  especially  that 
there  had  been  time  to  hear  the  whole  of  the 
boat  story. 

Now  that  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  car 
seat  it  seemed  to  be  a  good  time  to  look  over 
some  things  in  the  pretty  London  traveling 
bag,  which  had  been  pushed  under  its  owner's 
feet  until  then.  Betty  found  a  small  bit  of 
chocolate  for  herself  by  way  of  dessert  to  the 
early  luncheon,  and  made  an  entry  in  a  tidy 
little  account  book  which  she  meant  to  keep 
carefully  until  she  should  be  with  papa  again. 


AS  FAR  AS  RIVERPORT.  15 

It  was  a  very  interesting  bag,  with  a  dressing- 
case  fitted  into  it  and  a  writing  case,  all  fur- 
nished with  glass  and  ivory  and  silver  fittings 
and  yet  very  plain,  and  nice,  and  convenient. 
Betty's  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Duncan,  had  given  it 
to  her  that  very  spring,  before  she  thought  of 
coming  to  America,  and  on  the  voyage  it  had 
been  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Out  of  long 
experience  the  young  traveler  had  learned  not 
to  burden  herself  with  too  many  things,  but  all 
her  belongings  had  some  pleasant  associations : 
her  button-hook  was  bought  in  Amsterdam, 
and  a  queer  little  silver  box  for  buttons  came 
from  a  village  very  far  north  in  Norway,  while 
a  useful  jackknife  had  been  found  in  Spain, 
although  it  bore  J.  Crookes  of  Sheffield's  name 
on  the  haft.  Somehow  the  traveling  bag  it- 
self brought  up  Mrs.  Duncan's  dear  face,  and 
Betty's  eyes  glistened  with  tears  for  one  mo- 
ment. The  Duncan  girls  were  her  best  friends, 
and  she  had  had  lessons  with  them  for  many 
months  at  a  time  in  the  last  few  years,  so  they 
had  the  strong  bond  in  friendship  of  having 
worked  as  well  as  played  together.  But  Mrs. 
Duncan  had  been  very  motherly  and  dear  to 
our  friend,  and  just  now  seemed  nearer  and 


16  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

more  helpful  than  ever.  The  train  whistled 
along  and  the  homesick  feeling  soon  passed, 
though  Betty  remembered  that  Mrs.  Duncan 
had  said  once  that  wherever  you  may  put  two 
persons  one  is  always  hostess  and  the  other 
always  guest,  either  from  circumstances  alone 
or  from  their  different  natures,  and  they  must 
be  careful  about  their  duties  to  each  other. 
Betty  had  not  quite  understood  this  when  she 
heard  it  said,  though  the  words  had  stayed  in 
her  mind.  Now  the  meaning  flashed  clearly 
into  her  thought,  and  she  was  pleased  to  think 
that  she  had  just  now  been  the  one  who  knew 
most  about  traveling.  She  wished  so  much 
that  she  could  have  been  of  more  use  to  the 
old  lady,  but  after  all  she  seemed  to  have  a 
good  little  journey,  and  Betty  hoped  that  she 
could  remember  all  about  this  droll  companion 
when  she  was  writing,  at  her  own  journey's 
end,  to  papa. 


II. 

THE  PACKET   BOAT. 

THE  day  was  one  of  the  best  days  in  June, 
with  warm  sunshine  and  a  cool  breeze  from 
the  east,  for  when  Betty  Leicester  stepped 
from  a  hot  car  to  the  station  platform  in 
Riverport  the  air  had  a  delicious  sea-flavor. 
She  wondered  for  a  moment  what  this  flavor 
was  like,  and  then  thought  of  a  salt  oyster. 
She  was  hungry  and  tired,  the  journey  had 
been  longer  than  she  expected,  and,  as  she 
made  her  way  slowly  through  the  crowded 
station  and  was  pushed  about  by  people  who 
were  hurrying  out  of  or  into  the  train,  she  felt 
unusually  disturbed  and  lonely.  Betty  had 
traveled  far  and  wide  for  a  girl  of  fifteen,  but 
she  had  seldom  been  alone,  and  was  used  to 
taking  care  of  other  people.  Papa  himself 
was  very  apt  to  forget  important  minor  details, 
and  she  had  learned  out  of  her  loving  young 
heart  to  remember  them,  and  was  not  without 


18  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

high  ambitions  to  make  their  journeys  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.  Still,  she  and  her  father 
had  almost  always  been  together,  and  Betty 
wondered  if  it  had  not  after  all  been  foolish 
to  make  a  certain  decision  which  involved  not 
seeing  him  again  until  a  great  many  weeks 
had  gone  by. 

The  cars  moved  away  and  the  young  trav- 
eler went  to  the  ticket-office  to  ask  about  the 
Tideshead  train.  The  ticket-agent  looked  at 
her  with  a  smile. 

"  Train 's  gone  half  an  hour  ago !  "  he  said, 
as  if  he  were  telling  Betty  some  good  news. 
"  There  '11  be  another  one  at  eight  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning,  and  the  express  goes,  same 
as  to-day,  at  half  past  one.  I  suppose  you 
want  to  go  to  Tideshead  town  ;  this  road  only 
goes  to  the  junction  and  then  there 's  a  stage, 
you  know."  He  looked  at  Betty  doubtfully 
and  as  if  he  expected  an  instant  decision  on 
her  part  as  to  what  she  meant  to  do  next. 

"  I  knew  that  there  was  a  stage,"  she  an- 
swered, feeling  a  little  alarmed,  but  hoping 
that  she  did  not  show  it.  "  The  time-table 
said  there  was  a  train  to  meet  this  "  — 

"Oh,   that    train   is   an   express   now   and 


TEE  PACKET  BOAT.  19 

does  n't  stop.  Everything 's  got  to  be  sacri- 
ficed to  speed." 

The  ticket-agent  had  turned  his  back  and 
was  looking  over  some  papers  and  grumbling 
to  himself,  so  that  Betty  could  no  longer  hear 
what  he  was  pleased  to  say.  As  she  left  the 
window  an  elderly  man,  whose  face  was  very 
familiar,  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  you  an'  I  'pear  to  have  got 
left.  Tideshead,  you  said,  if  I  rightly  under- 
stood ?  " 

"Perhaps  there  is  somebody  who  would 
drive  us  there,"  said  Betty.  She  never  had 
been  called  ma'am  before,  and  it  was  most 
surprising.  "  It  is  n't  a  great  many  miles,  is 
it?" 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  the  new  acquaintance.  "  I 
was  in  considerable  of  a  hurry  to  get  home, 
but  't  is  n't  so  bad  as  you  think.  We  can  go 
right  up  on  the  packet,  up  river,  you  know ; 
get  there  by  supper-time  ;  the  wind 's  hauling 
round  into  the  east  a  little.  I  understood  you 
to  speak  about  getting  to  Tideshead  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Betty,  gratefully. 

"  Got  a  trunk,  I  expect.  Well,  I  '11  go  out 
and  look  round  for  Asa  Chick  and  his  han'cart, 


20  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

and  we  '11  make  for  the  wharf  as  quick  as  we 
can.  You  may  step  this  way." 

Betty  "stepped"  gladly,  and  Asa  Chick 
and  the  handcart  soon  led  the  way  riverward 
through  the  pleasant  old-fashioned  streets  of 
Eiverport.  Her  new  friend  pointed  out  one 
or  two  landmarks  as  they  hurried  along,  for, 
strange  to  say,  although  a  sea-captain,  he  was 
not  sure  whether  the  tide  turned  at  half  past 
two  or  at  half  past  three.  When  they  came  to 
the  river-side,  however,  the  packet-boat  was 
still  made  fast  to  the  pier,  and  nothing  showed 
signs  of  her  immediate  departure. 

"  It  is  always  a  good  thing  to  be  in  time," 
said  the  captain,  who  found  himself  much  too 
warm  and  nearly  out  of  breath.  "  Now,  we  Ve 
got  a  good  hour  to  wait.  Like  to  go  right 
aboard,  my  dear  ?  " 

Betty  paid  Asa  Chick,  and  then  turned  to 
see  the  packet.  It  was  a  queer,  heavy-looking 
craft,  with  a  short,  thick  mast  and  high, 
pointed  lateen-sail,  half  unfurled  and  dropping 
in  heavy  pocket-like  loops.  There  was  a  dark 
low  cabin  and  a  long  deck ;  a  very  old  man 
and  a  fat,  yellow  dog  seemed  to  be  the  whole 
ship's  company.  The  old  man  was  smoking  a 


THE  PACKET  BOAT.  21 

pipe  and  took  no  notice  of  anything,  but  the 
dog  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  came  wagging 
his  tail  and  looking  up  at  the  new  passenger. 

"  I  do'  know  but  I  '11  coast  round  up  into  the 
town  a  little,"  said  the  captain.  "  'T  ain't  no 
use  asking  old  Mr.  Plunkett  there  any  ques- 
tions, he 's  deef  as  a  ha'dick." 

"  Will  my  trunk  be  safe  ?  "  asked  Betty ; 
to  which  the  captain  answered  that  he  would 
put  it  right  aboard  for  her.  It  was  not  a  very 
heavy  trunk,  but  the  captain  managed  it  beau- 
tifully, and  put  Betty's  hand-bag  and  wrap 
into  the  dark  cabin.  Old  Plunkett  nodded  as 
he  saw  this  done,  and  the  captain  said  again 
that  Betty  might  feel  perfectly  safe  about 
everything ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  refused  to 
take  a  walk  in  order  to  see  what  was  going  on 
in  the  town,  as  she  was  kindly  invited  to  do. 
She  went  a  short  distance  by  herself,  however, 
and  came  first  to  a  bakery,  where  she  bought 
some  buns,  not  so  good  as  the  English  ones, 
but  still  very  good  buns  indeed,  and  two  ap- 
ples, which  the  baker's  wife  told  her  had  grown 
in  her  own  garden.  You  could  see  the  tree 
out  of  the  back  window,  by  which  the  hospita- 
ble woman  had  left  her  sewing,  and  they  were, 


22  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

indeed,  well-kept  and  delicious  apples  for  that 
late  season  of  the  year.  Betty  lingered  for 
some  minutes  in  the  pleasant  shop.  She  was 
very  hungry,  and  the  buns  were  all  the  better 
for  that.  She  looked  through  a  door  and  saw 
the  oven,  but  the  baking  was  all  done  for  the 
day.  The  baker  himself  was  out  in  his  cart ; 
he  had  just  gone  up  to  Tideshead.  Here  was 
another  way  in  which  one  might  have  gone 
to  Tideshead  by  land ;  it  would  have  been 
good  fun  to  go  on  the  baker's  cart  and  stop  in 
the  farm-house  yards  and  see  everybody ;  but 
on  the  whole  there  was  more  adventure  in  going 
by  water.  Papa  had  always  told  Betty  that 
the  river  was  beautiful.  She  did  not  remem- 
ber much  about  it  herself,  but  this  would  be  a 
fine  way  of  getting  a  first  look  at  so  large  a 
part  of  the  great  stream. 

It  was  slack  water  now,  and  the  wharf 
seemed  high,  and  the  landing-stage  altogether 
too  steep  and  slippery.  When  Betty  reached 
the  packet's  deck,  old  Mr.  Plunkett  was  sound 
asleep  ;  but  while  she  was  eating  her  buns  the 
dog  came  most  good-naturedly  and  stood  be- 
fore her,  cocking  his  head  sideways,  and 
putting  on  a  most  engaging  expression,  so 


THE  PACKET  BOAT.  23 

that  they  lunched  together,  and  Betty  left  off 
nearly  as  hungry  as  she  began.  The  old  dog 
knew  an  apple  when  he  saw  it,  and  was  dis- 
appointed after  the  last  one  was  brought  out 
from  Betty's  pocket,  and  lay  down  at  her  feet 
and  went  to  sleep  again.  Betty  got  into  the 
shade  of  the  wharf  and  sat  there  looking  down 
at  the  flounders  and  sculpins  in  the  clear  wa- 
ter, and  at  the  dripping  green  sea-weeds  on 
the  piles  of  the  wharf.  She  was  almost  star- 
tled when  a  heavy  wagon  was  driven  on  the 
planks  above,  and  a  man  shouted  suddenly  to 
the  horses.  Presently  some  barrels  of  flour 
were  rolled  down  and  put  on  deck — twelve 
of  them  in  all  —  by  a  man  and  boy  who  gave 
her,  the  young  stranger,  a  careful  glance  every 
time  they  turned  to  go  back.  Then  a  mow- 
ing-machine arrived,  and  was  carefully  put 
on  board  with  a  great  deal  of  bustle  and  loud 
talking.  There  was  somebody  on  deck,  now, 
whom  Betty  believed  to  be  the  packet's  skip- 
per, and  after  a  while  the  old  captain  returned. 
He  seated  himself  by  Mr.  Plunkett  and  shook 
hands  with  him  warmly,  and  asked  him  for 
the  news ;  but  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any. 
"  I  've  been  up  to  see  my  wife's  cousin  Jake 


24  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Hallet's  folks,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  thought 
sure  I  'd  get  left,"  and  old  Plunkett  nodded 
soberly.  They  did  not  sail  for  at  least  half  an 
hour  after  this,  and  Betty  sat  discreetly  on  the 
low  cabin  roof  next  the  wharf  all  the  time. 
When  they  were  out  in  the  stream  at  last  she 
could  get  a  pretty  view  of  the  town.  There 
was  some  shipping  farther  down  the  shore, 
and  some  tall  steeples  and  beautiful  trees  and 
quaintly  built  warehouses ;  it  was  very  pleas- 
ant, looking  back  at  it  from  the  water. 

A  little  past  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
they  moved  steadily  up  the  river.  The  men 
all  sat  together  in  a  group  at  the  stern,  and 
appeared  to  find  a  great  deal  to  talk  about. 
Old  Mr.  Plunkett  may  have  thought  that 
Betty  looked  lonely,  for  after  he  waked  for 
the  second  time  he  came  over  to  where  she 
sat  and  nodded  to  her ;  so  Betty  nodded  back, 
and  then  the  old  man  reached  for  her  um- 
brella, which  was  very  pretty,  with  a  round 
piece  of  agate  in  the  handle,  and  looked  at  it 
and  rubbed  it  with  his  thumb,  and  gave  it 
back  to  her.  "  Present  to  ye  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
Betty  nodded  assent.  Then  old  Plunkett  went 
away  again,  but  she  felt  a  sense  of  his  kind 


THE  PACKET  BOAT.  25 

companionship.  She  wondered  whom  she  must 
pay  for  her  passage  and  how  much  it  would 
be,  but  it  was  no  use  to  ask  so  deaf  a  fellow- 
passenger.  He  had  put  on  a  great  pair  of 
spectacles  and  was  walking  round  her  trunk, 
apparently  much  puzzled  by  the  battered  labels 
of  foreign  hotels  and  railway  stations. 

Betty  thought  that  she  had  seldom  seen  half 
so  pleasant  a  place  as  this  New  England  river. 
She  kept  longing  that  her  father  could  see  it, 
too.  As  they  went  up  from  the  town  the 
shores  grew  greener  and  greener,  and  there 
were  some  belated  apple-trees  still  in  bloom, 
and  the  farm-houses  were  so  old  and  stood  so 
pleasantly  toward  the  southern  sunshine  that 
they  looked  as  if  they  might  have  grown  like 
the  apple-trees  and  willows  and  elms.  There 
were  great  white  clouds  in  the  blue  sky ;  the 
air  was  delicious.  Betty  could  make  out  at 
last  that  old  Mr.  Plunkett  was  the  skipper's 
father,  that  Captain  Beck  was  an  old  ship- 
master and  a  former  acquaintance  of  her  own, 
and  that  the  flour  and  some  heavy  boxes  be- 
longed to  one  store-keeping  passenger  with  a 
long  sandy  beard,  and  the  mowing-machine 
to  the  other,  who  was  called  Jim  Foss,  and 


26  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

that  he  was  a  farmer.  He  was  a  great  joker 
and  kept  making  everybody  laugh.  Old  Mr. 
Plunkett  laughed  too,  now  that  he  was  wide 
awake,  but  it  was  only  through  sympathy ; 
he  seemed  to  be  a  very  kind  old  man.  One 
by  one  all  the  men  came  and  looked  at  the 
trunk  labels,  and  they  all  asked  whether  Betty 
had  n't  been  considerable  of  a  traveler,  or 
some  question  very  much  like  it.  At  last 
the  captain  came  with  Captain  Beck  to  collect 
the  passage  money,  which  proved  to  be  thirty- 
seven  cents. 

"  Where  did  you  say  you  was  goin'  to  stop 
in  Tideshead  ?  "  asked  Captain  Beck. 

"  I  'in  going  to  Miss  Leicester's.  Don't 
you  remember  me  ?  Are  n't  you  Mary  Beck's 
grandfather  ?  I  'm  Betty  Leicester." 

"  Toe  be  sure,  toe  be  sure,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  much  pleased.  "  I  wonder  that  I 
had  not  thought  of  you  at  first,  but  you  have 
grown  as  much  as  little  Mary  has.  You  're 
getting  to  be  quite  a  young  woman.  Com- 
mand me,"  said  the  shipmaster,  making  a 
handsome  bow.  "  I  am  glad  that  I  fell  in  with 
you.  I  see  your  father's  looks,  now.  The 
ladies  had  a  hard  fight  some  years  ago  to  keep 


THE  PACKET  BOAT.  27 

him  from  running  off  to  sea  with  me.  He  's 
been  a  great  traveler  since  then,  has  n't  he  ?  " 
to  which  Betty  responded  heartily,  again  feel- 
ing as  if  she  were  among  friends.  The  store- 
keeper offered  to  take  her  trunk  right  up  the 
hill  in  his  wagon,  when  they  got  to  the  Tides- 
head  landing,  and  on  the  whole  it  was  delight- 
ful that  the  trains  had  been  changed  just  in 
time  for  her  to  take  this  pleasant  voyage. 


m. 

A  BIT  OF  COLOR. 

BETTY  had  seen  strange  countries  since  her 
last  visit  to  Tideshead.  Then  she  was  only  a 
child,  but  now  she  was  so  tall  that  strangers 
treated  her  as  if  she  were  already  a  young 
lady.  At  fifteen  one  does  not  always  know 
just  where  to  find  one's  self.  A  year  before 
it  was  hard  to  leave  childish  things  alone,  but 
there  soon  came  a  time  when  they  seemed  to 
have  left  Betty,  while  one  by  one  the  graver 
interests  of  life  were  pushing  themselves  for- 
ward. It  was  reasonable  enough  that  she 
should  be  taking  care  of  herself ;  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  she  knew  how  better  than  most  girls 
of  her  age.  Her  father's  rough  journey  to  the 
far  North  had  been  decided  upon  suddenly; 
Mr.  Leicester  and  Betty  had  been  comforta- 
bly settled  at  Lynton  in  Devonshire  for  the 
summer,  with  a  comfortable  prospect  of  some 
charming  excursions  and  a  good  bit  of  work 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  29 

on  papa's  new  scientific  book.  Betty  was  used 
to  sudden  changes  of  their  plans,  but  it  was 
a  hard  trial  when  he  had  come  back  from 
London  one  day,  filled  with  enthusiasm  about 
the  Alaska  business. 

"  The  only  thing  against  it  is  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  you,  Betty  dear,"  said 
papa,  with  a  most  wistful  but  affectionate 
glance.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  to 
Switzerland  with  the  Duncans  ?  You  know 
they  were  very  anxious  that  I  should  lend  you 
for  a  while." 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  Betty,  trying 
to  smile,  but  she  could  not  talk  any  more  just 
then.  She  did  n't  believe  that  the  hardships 
of  this  new  journey  were  too  great ;  it  was 
papa  who  minded  dust  and  hated  the  care  of 
railway  rugs  and  car-tickets,  not  she.  But  she 
gave  him  a  kiss  and  hurried  out  through  the 
garden  and  went  as  fast  as  she  could  along  the 
lonely  long  cliff-walk  above  the  sea,  to  think 
the  sad  matter  over. 

That  evening  Betty  came  down  to  dinner 
with  a  serene  face.  She  looked  more  like  a 
young  lady  than  she  ever  had  before.  "  I  have 
quite  decided  what  I  should  like  to  do,"  she 


30  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

said.  "  Please  let  me  go  home  with  you  and 
stay  in  Tideshead  with  Aunt  Barbara  and 
Aunt  Mary.  They  speak  about  seeing  us  in 
their  letters,  and  I  should  be  nearer  where  you 
are  going."  Betty's  brave  voice  failed  her  for 
a  moment  just  there. 

"  Why,  Betty,  what  a  wise  little  woman  you 
are !  "  said  Mr.  Leicester^  looking  very  much 
pleased.  "  That 's  exactly  right.  I  was  think- 
ing about  the  dear  souls  as  I  came  from  town, 
and  promised  myself  that  I  would  run  down 
for  a  few  days  before  I  go  North.  That  is,  if 
you  say  I  may  go ! "  and  he  looked  seriously  at 
Betty. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Betty  slowly ;  "yes,  I  am 
sure  you  may,  papa  dear,  if  you  will  be  very, 
very  careful." 

They  had  a  beloved  old  custom  of  papa's 
asking  his  girl's  leave  to  do  anything  that  was 
particularly  important.  In  Betty's  baby-days 
she  had  reproved  him  for  going  out  one  morn- 
ing. "  Who  said  you  might  go,  Master  Papa?" 
demanded  the  little  thing  severely ;  and  it  had 
been  a  dear  bit  of  fun  to  remember  the  old 
story  from  time  to  time  ever  since.  Betty's 
mother  had  died  before  she  could  remember ; 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  31 

the  two  who  were  left  were  most  dependent 
upon  each  other. 

You  will  see  how  Betty  came  to  have  care- 
taking  ways  and  how  she  had  learned  to  think 
more  than  most  girls  about  what  it  was  best 
to  do.  You  will  understand  how  lonely  she 
felt  in  this  day  or  two  when  the  story  begins. 
Mr.  Leicester  was  too  much  hurried  after  all 
when  he  reached  America,  and  could  not  go 
down  to  Tideshead  for  a  few  days'  visit,  as 
they  had  both  hoped  and  promised.  And  here, 
at  last,  was  Betty  going  up  the  long  village 
street  with  Captain  Beck  for  company.  She 
had  not  seen  Tideshead  for  four  years,  but  it 
looked  exactly  the  same.  There  was  the  great, 
square,  white  house,  with  the  poplars  and  lilac 
bushes.  There  were  Aunt  Barbara  and  Aunt 
Mary  sitting  in  the  wide  hall  doorway  as  if 
they  had  never  left  their  high-backed  chairs 
since  she  saw  them  last. 

"  Who  is  this  coming  up  the  walk  ?  "  said 
Aunt  Barbara,  rising  and  turning  toward  her 
placid  younger  sister  in  sudden  excitement. 
"It  can't  be  —  why,  yes,  it  is  Betty,  after 
all !  "  and  she  hurried  down  the  steps. 

"  Grown  out  of  all  reason,  of  course  !  "  she 


82  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

said  sharply,  as  she  kissed  the  surprising 
grandniece,  and  then  held  her  at  arm's-length 
to  look  at  her  again  most  fondly.  "  Where 
did  you  find  her,  Captain  Beck?  We  sent 
over  to  the  train  ;  in  fact,  I  went  myself  with 
Jonathan,  but  we  were  disappointed.  Your 
father  always  telegraphs  two  or  three  times 
before  he  really  gets  here,  Betty;  but  you 
have  not  brought  him,  after  all." 

"  We  had  to  come  up  river  by  the  packet," 
said  Captain  Beck ;  u  the  young  lady 's  had 
quite  a  voyage;  her  sea-chest '11  be  here  di- 
rectly." 

The  captain  left  Betty's  traveling-bag  on  the 
great  stone  doorstep,  and  turned  to  go  away, 
but  Betty  thanked  him  prettily  for  his  kind- 
ness, and  said  that  she  had  spent  a  delightful 
afternoon.  She  was  now  warmly  kissed  and 
hugged  by  Aunt  Mary,  who  looked  much 
younger  than  Aunt  Barbara,  and  she  saw  two 
heads  appear  at  the  end  of  the  long  hall. 

"  There  are  Serena  and  Letty ;  you  must 
run  and  speak  to  them.  They  have  been 
looking  forward  to  seeing  you,"  suggested 
Aunt  Barbara,  who  seemed  to  see  everything 
at  once;  but  when  Betty  went  that  way  no- 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  33 

body  was  to  be  found  until  she  came  to  the 
kitchen,  where  Serena  and  Letty  were,  or  pre- 
tended to  be,  much  surprised  at  her  arrival. 
They  were  now  bustling  about  to  get  Betty 
some  supper,  and  she  frankly  confessed  that 
she  was  very  hungry,  which  seemed  to  vastly 
please  the  good  women. 

"  What  in  the  world  shall  we  do  with  her  ?  " 
worried  Aunt  Mary,  while  Betty  was  gone. 
"  I  had  no  idea  she  would  seem  so  well  grown. 
She  used  to  be  small  for  her  age,  you  know, 
sister." 

"  Do?  do?  "  answered  Miss  Barbara  Leices- 
ter sternly.  "  If  she  can't  take  care  of  her- 
self by  this  time,  she  never  will  know  how. 
Tom  Leicester  should  have  let  her  stay  here 
altogether,  instead  of  roaming  about  the  world 
with  him,  or  else  have  settled  himself  down  in 
respectable  fashion.  I  can't  get  on  with  teas- 
ing children  at  my  age.  I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad 
she 's  well  grown.  She  must  n't  expect  us  to 
turn  out  of  our  ways,"  grumbled  Aunt  Bar- 
bara, who  had  the  kindest  heart  in  the  world, 
and  was  listening  anxiously  every  minute  for 
Betty's  footsteps. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  safe  in  the  old 


34  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

house  at  last.  The  young  guest  did  not  feel 
any  sense  of  strangeness.  She  used  to  be 
afraid  of  Aunt  Barbara  when  she  was  a  child, 
but  she  was  not  a  bit  afraid  now ;  and  Aunt 
Mary,  who  seemed  a  very  lovely  person  then, 
was  now  a  little  bit  tiresome,  —  or  else  Betty 
herself  was  tired  and  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
listen. 

After  supper ;  and  it  was  such  a  too-good 
supper,  with  pound-cakes,  and  peach  jam,  and 
crisp  shortcakes,  and  four  tall  silver  candle- 
sticks, and  Betty  being  asked  to  her  great  as- 
tonishment if  she  would  take  tea  and  meekly 
preferring  some  milk  instead ;  they  came  back 
to  the  doorway.  The  moon  had  come  up,  and 
the  wide  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  (which 
the  ladies  always  called  the  yard)  was  almost 
as  light  as  day.  The  syringa  bushes  were  in 
full  bloom  and  fragrance,  and  other  sweet 
odors  filled  the  air  beside.  There  were  two 
irreverent  little  dogs  playing  and  chasing  each 
other  on  the  wide  front  walk  and  bustling 
among  the  box  and  borders.  Betty  could  hear 
the  voices  of  people  who  drove  by,  or  walked 
along  the  sidewalk,  but  Tideshead  village  was 
almost  as  still  as  the  fields  outside  the  town. 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  35 

She  answered  all  the  questions  that  the  aunts 
kindly  asked  her  for  conversation's  sake,  and 
she  tried  to  think  of  ways  of  seeming  inter- 
ested in  return. 

"  Can  I  climb  the  cherry-tree  this  summer, 
Aunt  Barbara?"  she  asked  once.  "Don't 
you  remember  the  day  when  there  was  a  tea 
company  of  ladies  here,  and  Mary  Beck  and  I 
got  some  of  the  company's  bonnets  and  shawls 
off  the  best  bed  and  dressed  up  in  them  and 
climbed  up  in  the  trees  ?  " 

"You  looked  like  two  fat  black  crows," 
laughed  Aunt  Barbara,  though  she  had  been 
very  angry  at  the  time.  "  All  the  fringes  of 
those  thin  best  shawls  were  catching  and  snap- 
ping as  you  came  down.  Oh,  dear  me,  I 
could  n't  think  what  the  old  ladies  would  say. 
None  of  your  mischief  now,  Miss  Betty  !  "  and 
she  held  up  a  warning  forefinger.  "  Mary 
Beck  is  coming  to  see  you  to-morrow ;  you 
will  find  some  pleasant  girls  here." 

"Tideshead  has  always  been  celebrated  for 
its  cultivated  society,  you  know,  dear,"  added 
Aunt  Mary. 

Just  now  a  sad  feeling  of  loneliness  began 
to  assail  Betty.  The  summer  might  be  very 


36  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

long  in  passing,  and  anything  might  happen 
to  papa.  She  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  to 
have  the  comfort  of  feeling  a  crumpled  note,  a 
very  dear  short  note,  which  papa  had  written 
her  only  the  day  before,  when  he  had  suddenly 
decided  to  go  out  to  Cambridge  and  not  come 
back  to  the  hotel  for  luncheon. 

They  talked  a  little  longer,  Betty  and  the 
grandaunts,  until  sensible  Aunt  Barbara  said, 
"  Now  run  upstairs  to  bed,  my  dear ;  I  am 
sure  that  you  must  be  tired,"  and  Betty,  who 
usually  begged  to  stay  up  as  long  as  the  grown 
folks,  was  glad  for  once  to  be  sent  away  like 
a  small  child.  Aunt  Barbara  marched  up 
the  stairway  and  led  the  way  to  the  east  bed- 
room. It  was  an  astonishing  tribute  of  respect 
to  Betty,  the  young  guest,  and  she  admired 
such  large-minded  hospitality;  but  after  all 
she  had  expected  a  comfortable  snug  little 
room  next  Aunt  Mary's,  where  she  had  always 
slept  years  before.  Aunt  Barbara  assured  her 
that  this  one  was  much  cooler  and  pleasanter, 
and  she  must  remember  what  a  young  lady 
she  had  grown  to  be.  "  But  you  may  change 
to  some  other  room  if  you  like,  my  dear  child," 
said  the  old  lady  kindly.  "  I  would  n't  un- 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  37 

pack  to-night,  but  just  go  to  bed  and  get  rested. 
I  have  my  breakfast  at  half  past  seven,  but 
your  Aunt  Mary  does  n't  come  down.  1  hope 
that  you  will  be  ready  as  early  as  that,  for  I 
like  company ; "  and  then,  after  seeing  that 
everything  was  in  order  and  comfortable,  she 
kissed  Betty  twice  most  kindly  and  told  her 
that  she  was  thankful  to  have  her  come  to 
them,  and  went  away  downstairs. 

It  was  a  solemn,  big,  best  bedroom,  with 
dark  India-silk  curtains  to  the  bed  and  win- 
dows, and  dull  coverings  on  the  furniture. 
This  all  looked  as  if  there  were  pretty  figures 
and  touches  of  gay  color  by  daylight,  but  now 
by  the  light  of  the  two  candles  on  the  dress- 
ing-table it  seemed  a  dim  and  dismal  place 
that  night.  Betty  was  not  a  bit  afraid ;  she 
only  felt  lonely.  She  was  but  fifteen  years 
old,  and  she  did  not  know  how  to  get  on  by 
herself  after  all.  But  Betty  was  no  coward. 
She  had  been  taught  to  show  energy  and  to 
make  light  of  difficulties.  What  could  she 
do?  Why,  unpack  a  little,  and  then  go  to 
bed  and  go  to  sleep ;  that  would  be  the  best 
thing. 

She  knelt  down  before  her  trunk,  and  had 


88  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

an  affectionate  feeling  toward  it  as  she  turned 
the  key  and  saw  her  familiar  properties  inside. 
She  took  out  her  pictures  of  her  father  and 
mother  and  Mrs.  Duncan,  and  shook  out  a 
crumpled  dress  or  two  and  left  them  to  lie  on 
the  old  couch  until  morning.  Deep  down  in 
the  sea-chest,  as  Captain  Beck  had  called  it, 
she  felt  the  soft  folds  of  a  gay  piece  of  Indian 
silk  made  like  a  little  shawl,  which  papa  had 
pleased  himself  with  buying  for  her  one  day  at 
Liberty's  shop  in  London.  Mrs.  Duncan  had 
laughed  when  she  saw  it,  and  told  Betty  not  to 
dare  to  wear  it  for  at  least  ten  years ;  but  the 
color  of  it  was  marvelous  in  the  shadowy  old 
room.  Betty  threw  the  shining  red  thing  over 
the  back  of  a  great  easy-chair  and  it  seemed 
to  light  the  whole  place.  She  could  not  help 
feeling  more  cheerful  for  the  sight  of  that  gay 
bit  of  color.  Then  a  great  wish  filled  her 
heart,  dear  little  Betty ;  perhaps  she  could 
really  bring  some  new  pleasure  to  Tideshead 
that  summer!  The  old  aunties'  lives  looked 
very  gray  and  dull  to  her  young  eyes  ;  it  was 
a  dull  place,  perhaps,  for  Betty,  who  had  lived 
a  long  time  where  the  brightest  and  busiest 
people  were.  The  last  thing  she  thought  of 


A  BIT  OF  COLOR.  39 

before  she  fell  asleep  was  the  little  silk  shawl. 
She  had  often  heard  artistic  people  say  "  a  bit 
of  color  ;  "  now  she  had  a  new  idea,  though  a 
dim  one,  of  what  a  bit  of  color  might  be  ex- 
pected to  do  in  every-day  life.  Good-night, 
Betty.  Good-night,  dear  Betty,  in  your  best 
bedroom,  sound  asleep  all  the  summer  night 
and  dreaming  of  those  you  love  I 


IV. 

TIDESHEAD. 

HOWEVER  old  and  responsible  Betty  Leices- 
ter felt  overnight,  she  seemed  to  return  to 
early  childhood  in  spite  of  herself  next  day. 
She  must  see  the  old  house  again  and  chatter 
with  Aunt  Barbara  about  the  things  and  peo- 
ple she  remembered  best.  She  looked  all 
about  the  garden,  and  spent  an  hour  in  the 
kitchen  talking  to  Serena  and  Letty  while 
they  worked  there,  and  then  she  went  out  to 
see  Jonathan  and  a  new  acquaintance  called 
Seth  Pond,  an  awkward  young  man,  who  took 
occasion  to  tell  Betty  that  he  had  come  from 
way  up-country  where  there  was  plenty  green- 
er'n  he  was.  There  were  a  great  many  inter- 
esting things  to  see  and  hear  in  Jonathan's 
and  Seth's  domains,  and  Betty  found  the  re- 
mains of  one  of  her  own  old  cubby-holes  in  the 
shed-chamber,  and  was  touched  to  the  heart 
when  she  found  that  it  had  never  been  cleared 


TIDESHEAD.  41 

away.  She  had  known  so  many  places  and  so 
many  people  that  it  was  almost  startling  to 
find  Tideshead  looking  and  behaving  exactly 
the  same,  while  she  had  changed  so  much. 
The  garden  was  a  most  lovely  place,  with  its 
long,  vine-covered  summer-house,  and  just  now 
all  the  roses  were  in  bloom.  Here  was  that 
cherry-tree  into  which  she  and  Mary  Beck  had 
climbed,  decked  in  the  proper  black  shawls 
and  bonnets  and  black  lace  veils.  But  where 
could  dear  Becky  be  all  the  morning  ?  They 
had  been  famous  cronies  in  that  last  visit, 
when  they  were  eleven  years  old.  Betty  hur- 
ried into  the  house  to  find  her  hat  and  tell 
Aunt  Barbara  where  she  was  going. 
'  Aunt  Barbara  took  the  matter  into  serious 
consideration.  "  Why,  Mary  will  come  to  see 
you  this  afternoon,  I  don't  doubt,  my  dear, 
and  perhaps  you  had  better  wait  until  after 
dinner.  They  dine  earlier  than  we,  and  are 
apt  to  be  busy." 

Betty  turned  away  disappointed.  She  wished 
that  she  had  thought  to  find  Mary  just  after 
breakfast  in  their  friendly  old  fashion,  but  it 
was  too  late  now.  She  would  sit  down  at  the 
old  secretary  in  the  library  and  begin  a  letter 
to  papa. 


42  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Dear  Papa,'*  she  wrote,  "  Here  I  am  at 
Tideshead,  and  I  feel  just  as  I  used  when  I 
was  a  little  girl,  but  people  treat  me,  even 
Mary  Beck,  as  if  I  were  grown  up,  and  it  is  a 
little  lonely  just  at  first.  Everything  looks 
just  the  same,  and  Serena  made  me  some 
hearts  and  rounds  for  supper ;  was  n't  she  kind 
to  remember  ?  And  they  put  on  the  old  silver 
mug  that  you  used  to  have,  for  me  to  drink  out 
of.  And  I  like  Aunt  Barbara  best  of  the  two 
aunts,  after  all,  which  is  sure  to  make  you 
laugh,  though  Aunt  Mary  is  very  kind  and 
seems  ill,  so  that  I  mean  to  be  as  nice  to  her 
as  I  possibly  can.  They  seemed  to  think  that 
you  were  going  off  just  as  far  as  you  possibly 
could  without  going  to  a  star,  and  it  made  me 
miss  you  more  than  ever.  Jonathan  talked 
about  politics,  whether  I  listened  or  not,  and 
did  n't  like  it  when  I  said  that  you  believed  in 
tariff  reform.  He  really  scolded  and  said  the 
country  would  go  to  the  dogs,  and  I  was  soriy 
that  I  knew  so  little  about  politics.  People 
expect  you  to  know  so  many  new  things  with 
every  inch  you  grow.  Dear  papa,  I  wish  that 
I  were  with  you.  Remember  not  to  smoke  too 
often,  even  if  you  wish  to  very  much ;  and 


TIDESHEAD.  43 

please,  dear  papa,  think  very  often  that  I  am 
your  only  dear  child, 

BETTY. 

"  P.  S.  —  I  miss  you  more  because  they  are 
all  so  much  older  than  we  are,  papa  dear. 
Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  about  the  tariff  re- 
form for  a  lesson  letter  when  you  can't  think 
of  anything  else  to  write  about.  I  have  not 
seen  Mary  Beck  yet,  or  any  of  the  girls  I 
used  to  know.  Mary  always  came  right  over 
before.  I  must  tell  you  next  time  about  such 
a  funny,  nice  old  woman  who  came  most  of 
the  way  with  me  in  the  cars,  and  what  will 
you  think  when  I  tell  you  the  most  important 
thing,  —  I  had  to  come  up  river  on  the  packet  I 
I  wished  and  wished  for  you. 

BETTY." 

Dinner-time  was  very  pleasant,  and  Aunt 
Mary,  who  first  appeared  then,  was  most  kind 
and  cheerful ;  but  both  the  ladies  took  naps, 
after  dinner  was  over  and  they  had  read  their 
letters,  so  Betty  went  to  her  own  room,  mean- 
ing to  put  away  her  belongings;  but  Letty 
had  done  this  beforehand,  and  the  large  room 
looked  very  comfortable  and  orderly.  Aunt 
Barbara  had  smiled  when  another  protest  was 


44  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

timidly  offered  about  the  best  bedroom,  and 
told  Betty  that  it  was  pleasant  to  have  her 
just  across  the  hall.  "  I  am  well  used  to  my 
housekeeping  cares,"  added  Aunt  Barbara, 
with  a  funny  look  across  the  table  at  her 
young  niece  ;  and  Betty  thought  again,  how 
much  she  liked  this  grandaunt. 

The  house  was  very  quiet  and  she  did  not 
know  exactly  what  to  do,  so  she  looked  about 
the  guest-chamber. 

There  were  some  quaint-looking  silhouettes 
on  the  walls  of  the  room,  and  in  a  deep  oval 
frame  a  fine  sort  of  ornament  which  seemed 
to  be  made  of  beautiful  grasses  and  leaves,  all 
covered  with  glistening  crystals.  The  dust  had 
crept  in  a  little  at  one  side.  Betty  remem- 
bered it  well,  and  always  thought  it  very  in- 
teresting. Then  there  were  two  old  engrav- 
ings of  Angelica  Kauffmann  and  Madame 
Le  Brun.  Nothing  pleased  her  so  much,  how-( 
ever,  as  papa's  bright  little  shawl.  It  looked 
brighter  than  ever,  and  Letty  had  folded  it 
and  left  it  on  the  old  chair. 

Just  then  there  came  a  timid  rap  or  two  with 
the  old  knocker  on  the  hall-door.  It  was  early 
for  visitors,  and  the  aunts  were  both  in  their 


TIDESHEAD.  45 

rooms.  Betty  went  out  to  see  what  could  be 
done  about  so  exciting  a  thing,  and  met  quick- 
footed  Letty,  who  had  been  close  at  hand  in 
the  dining-room. 

"  'T  is  Miss  Mary  Beck  come  to  call  upon 
you,  Miss  Betty,"  said  Letty,  with  an  air  o£ 
high  festivity,  and  Betty  went  quickly  down- 
stairs. She  was  brimful  of  gladness  to  see 
Mary  Beck,  and  went  straight  toward  her  in 
the  shaded  parlor  to  kiss  her  and  tell  her  so. 

Mary  Beck  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair,  and  was  dressed  as  if  she  were  going  to 
church,  with  a  pair  of  tight  shiny  best  gloves 
on  and  shiny  new  boots,  which  hurt  her  feet 
if  Betty  had  only  known  it.  She  wore  a  hat 
that  looked  too  small  for  her  head,  and  had  a 
queer,  long,  waving  bird-of -paradise  feather  in 
it,  and  a  dress  that  was  much  too  old  for  her, 
and  of  a  cold,  smooth,  gray  color,  trimmed 
with  a  shade  of  satin  that  neither  matched  it 
nor  made  a  contrast.  She  had  grown  to  be 
even  taller  than  Betty,  and  she  looked  uncom- 
fortable, and  as  if  she  had  been  forced  to 
come.  That  was  a  silly,  limp  shake  of  the 
hand  with  which  she  returned  Betty's  warm 
grasp.  Oh,  dear,  it  was  evidently  a  dreadful 


46  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

thing  to  go  to  make  a  call !  It  had  been  an 
anxious,  discouraged  getting-ready,  and  Betty 
thought  of  the  short,  red-cheeked,  friendly 
little  Becky  whom  she  used  to  play  with,  and 
was  grieved  to  the  heart.  But  she  bravely 
pushed  a  chair  close  to  the  guest  and  sat 
down.  She  could  not  get  over  the  old  feeling 
of  affection. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  over  here  long 
ago.  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  see  you.  Why, 
you  're  more  grown  up  than  I  am  ;  is  n't  it  too 
bad  ?  "  said  Betty,  feeling  afraid  that  one  or 
the  other  of  them  might  cry,  they  were  both 
blushing  so  deeply  and  the  occasion  was  so 
solemn. 

"  Oh,  do  let 's  play  in  the  shed-chamber  all 
day  to-morrow ! " 

And  then  they  both  laughed  as  hard  as  they 
could,  and  there  was  the  dear  old  Mary  Beck 
after  all,  and  a  tough  bit  of  ice  was  forever 
broken. 

Betty  threw  open  the  parlor  blinds,  regard- 
less of  Serena's  feelings  about  flies,  and  the 
two  friends  spent  a  delightful  hour  together, 
The  call  ended  in  Mary's  being  urged  to  go 
home  to  take  off  her  best  gown  and  put  on 


T1DESHEAD.  47 

an  every-day  one,  and  away  they  went  after- 
ward for  a  long  walk. 

"  What  are  the  girls  doing  ?  "  asked  Betty, 
as  if  she  considered  herself  a  member  already 
of  this  branch  of  the  great  secret  society  of 
girls. 

"Oh,  nothing;  we  hardly  ever  do  any- 
thing," answered  Mary  Beck,  with  a  surprised 
and  uneasy  glance.  "It  is  so  slow  in  Tides- 
head,  everybody  says." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  slow  anywhere  if  we  don't 
do  anything  about  it,"  laughed  Betty,  so  good- 
naturedly  that  Mary  laughed  too.  "  I  like  to 
play  out-of-doors  just  as  well  as  ever  I  did, 
don't  you?" 

Mary  Beck  gave  a  somewhat  doubtful  an- 
swer. She  had  dreaded  this  ceremonious  call. 
She  could  not  quite  understand  why  Betty 
Leicester,  who  had  traveled  abroad  and  done 
so  many  things  and  had,  as  people  say,  such 
unusual  advantages,  should  seem  the  same  as 
ever,  and  only  wear  that  plain,  comfortable- 
looking  little  gingham  dress. 

"  When  my  other  big  trunk  comes  there  are 
some  presents  I  brought  over  for  you,"  con' 
f  essed  Betty  shyly.  .„  "  I  have  had  to  keep  one 


48  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

of  them  a  long  time  because  papa  has  always 
been  saying  every  year  that  we  were  sure  to 
come  to  Tideshead,  and  then  we  have  n't  after 
all." 

"  He  has  been  here  two  or  three  times," 
said  Mary.  "  I  saw  him  go  by  and  I  wanted 
to  run  out  and  ask  him  about  you,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  "  — 

"  Afraid  of  papa  ?  What  a  funny  thing  ! 
You  never  would  be  if  you  really  knew  him," 
exclaimed  Betty,  with  delighted  assurance.  She 
laughed  heartily  and  stopped  to  lean  against  a 
stone  wall,  and  gave  Mary  Beck  a  litfcle  push 
which  was  meant  to  express  a  great  deal  of 
affection  and  amusement.  Then  she  forgot 
everything  in  looking  at  the  beautiful  view 
across  the  farms  and  the  river  and  toward  the 
great  hills  and  mountains  beyond. 

"I  knew  you  would  think  it  was  pretty 
here,"  said  Mary.  "I  have  always  thought 
that  when  you  came  back  I  would  bring  you 
here  first.  I  liked  to  call  this  our  tree,"  she 
said  shyly,  looking  up  into  the  great  oak 
branches.  "  It  seems  so  strange  to  be  here 
with  you,  at  last,  after  all  the  times  I  have 
thought  about  it  "  — 


T1DESHEAD.  49 

Betty  was  touched  by  this  bit  of  real  senti- 
ment. She  was  thankful  from  that  moment 
that  she  was  going  to  spend  most  of  the  sum- 
mer in  Tideshead.  Here  was  the  best  of  good 
things,  —  a  real  friend,  who  had  been  waiting 
for  her  all  the  time. 


Y. 

AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE. 

WHEN  the  happy  Becky  flew  in  to  free  her- 
self from  her  Sunday  clothes  she  did  not  meet 
either  member  of  her  family,  but  on  her 
return  from  the  walk  she  found  her  mother 
grimly  getting  the  supper  ready. 

"  Oh,  I  have  had  such  a  lovely  time,"  cried 
Becky,  brimful  of  the  pleasure  of  Betty's  re- 
turn. "  She  is  just  the  same  as  she  used  to 
be,  exactly ;  only  grown  like  everything.  And 
I  saw  Miss  Barbara  Leicester,  and  she  was 
lovely  and  asked  me  to  stay  to  tea,  and  Betty 
did  too,  but  I  did  n't  know  whether  you  would 
like  it." 

"  I  am  going  to  have  her  come  and  take  tea 
with  us  as  soon  as  I  can,  but  I  don't  see  how 
to  manage  it  this  week,"  said  Mrs.  Beck  com- 
plainingly.  "  I  have  so  much  to  do  every  day 
that  I  dread  having  company.  What  made  you 
put  on  that  spotted  old  dress  ?  I  don't  know 


AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE.  51 

what  she  could  have  thought,  I  'm  sure.  If  you 
wanted  to  take  off  your  best  one,  why  did  n't 
you  put  on  your  satine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  mother !  "  answered 
Becky  fretfully.  "  Betty  had  on  a  gingham 
dress,  and  she  said  I  could  n't  get  over  the 
fences  in  my  best  one,  and  I  did  n't  think  it 
made  any  difference." 

"  Well,  no  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Beck  sigh- 
ing, "they  saw  you  dressed  up  decently  at 
first.  I  think  you  girls  are  too  old  to  climb 
fences  and  be  tomboys,  for  my  part.  When 
I  was  growing  up,  young  ladies  were  expected 
to  interest  themselves  in  things  at  home." 

The  good  cheer  of  the  afternoon  served 
Becky  in  good  stead.  She  was  already  help- 
ing her  mother  with  the  table,  and  was  sorry 
in  a  more  understanding  way  than  ever  before 
for  the  sad-looking  little  woman  in  black,  who 
got  so  few  real  pleasures  out  of  life.  "  Betty 
Leicester  says  that  we  can  have  this  one  sum- 
mer more  any  way  before  we  are  really  grown 
up,"  she  suggested,  and  Mrs.  Beck  smiled  and 
hoped  they  would  enjoy  it,  but  they  could  n't 
keep  time  back  do  what  they  might. 

"  Did  she  show  you  anything  she  brought 
home,  Mary  ?  " 


62  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

*• 
"  No,  not  a  single  thing  ;  we  were  out-doors 

almost  all  the  time  after  I  made  the  call,  but 
she  says  she  has  brought  me  some  presents." 

"  I  wonder  what  they  are  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Beck, 
much  pleased.  "  There  's  one  thing  about  the 
Leicesters,  they  are  all  generous  where  they 
take  a  liking.  But  then,  they  have  got  plenty 
to  do  with ;  everybody  has  n't.  You  might 
have  stayed  to  tea,  I  suppose,  if  they  wanted 
you,  but  I  would  n't  run  after  them." 

"  Why  mother !  "  exclaimed  honest  Becky. 
"  Betty  Leicester  and  I  always  played  to- 
gether ;  it  is  n't  running  after  her  to  expect  to 
be  friends  just  the  same  now.  Betty  always 
comes  here  of  tenest ;  she  said  she  was  coming 
right  over." 

"  I  want  you  to  show  proper  pride,"  said  the 
mistaken  mother.  It  would  have  been  so  much 
better  to  let  the  two  girls  go  their  own  unsus- 
pecting ways.  But  poor  little  Mrs.  Beck  had 
suffered  many  sorrows  and  disappointments, 
and  had  not  learned  yet  that  such  lessons  ought 
to  make  one's  life  larger  instead  of  smaller. 

Mary's  eyes  were  shining  with  delight  in 
spite  of  her  mother's  plaintive  discourage- 
ments, and  now  as  they  both  turned  away 


AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE.  53 

from  the  plain  little  supper-table,  she  took 
hold  of  her  hand  and  held  it  fast  as  they 
went  out  to  the  kitchen  together.  They  very 
seldom  indulged  in  any  signs  of  affection,  but 
there  was  a  very  happy  feeling  roused  by 
Betty  Leicester's  coming.  "  Oh  good  !  drop- 
cakes  for  tea !  "  and  Mary  capered  a  little  to 
show  how  pleased  she  was.  "  I  wish  I  had 
asked  her  to  come  home  with  me,  she  always 
used  to  eat  so  many  of  our  drop-cakes  when 
she  was  a  little  girl;  don't  you  remember, 
mother?" 

"  Yes ;  but  you  must  n't  expect  her  to  be 
the  same  now,"  answered  Mrs.  Beck.  "  She 
is  used  to  having  things  very  different,  and 
we  can't  do  as  we  could  if  father  had  lived." 

"  Grandpa  says  nobody  has  things  as  nice 
as  you  do,"  said  Mary,  trying  to  make  the  sun 
shine  again.  "I  know  Betty  will  eat  more 
drop-cakes  than  ever,  just  because  she  can  hold, 
so  many  more.  She  '11  be  glad  of  that,  now 
you  see,  mother ! "  and  Mrs.  Beck  gave  a 
faint  smile. 

That  very  evening  there  were  quick  steps  up 
the  yard  toward  the  side  door,  and  Betty 
opened  the  door  and  came  in  to  the  Becks'  sit- 


54  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

ting-room.  She  stopped  a  moment  on  the 
threshold,  it  all  looked  so  familiar.  Becky 
had  grown,  as  we  know ;  that  was  the  only 
change,  and  the  old  captain  sat  reading  his 
newspaper  as  usual,  with  a  small  lamp  held 
close  against  it  in  his  right  hand ;  Mrs.  Beck 
was  sewing,  and  on  the  wall  hung  the  picture 
of  Daniel  Webster  and  the  portraits  in  water- 
colors  of  two  of  the  captain's  former  ships. 
Betty  spoke  to  Captain  Beck  with  an  air  of 
intimacy  and  then  went  over  to  Becky's  mother, 
who  stood  there  with  a  pale  apprehensive  look 
as  if  she  thought  there  was  no  chance  of  any- 
body's being  glad  to  see  her.  However,  Betty 
kissed  her  warmly  and  said  she  was  so  glad 
to  get  back  to  Tideshead,  and  then  displayed  a 
white  paper  bundle  which  she  had  held  under 
her  wrap.  It  looked  like  presents ! 

"  Aunt  Barbara  had  to  write  some  letters 
for  the  early  mail  and  Aunt  Mary  was  resting, 
so  I  thought  I  would  run  over  for  a  few  min- 
utes," said  the  eager  girl.  "My  big  trunk 
came  this  afternoon,  Becky." 

"  How  is  your  Aunt  Mary  to-day  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Beck  ceremoniously,  though  a  light  crept 
into  her  face  which  may  have  been  a  reflection 
from  her  daughter's  broad  smile. 


AT  BECKYS  HOUSE.  55 

"  Oh,  she  is  just  the  same  as  ever,"  replied 
Betty  sadly.  "  I  believe  she  is  n't  sleeping 
so  well  lately,  but  she  looks  a  great  deal  better 
than  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  Aunt  Barbara 
is  always  so  anxious." 

"  They  were  surprised,  I  observed,  when  you 
and  I  came  up  the  street  together  last  night ; 
quite  a  voyage  we  had,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Some  day  I  mean  to  go  down  and  come 
back  again  in  the  old  packet ;  can't  you  go 
too,  Becky  ?  "  said  our  friend.  "  Captain 
Beck  '11  be  going  again,  won't  you,  Captain 
Beck  ?  I  did  n't  look  at  the  river  half  enough 
because  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  here." 

"  You  're  sunburnt,  are  n't  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Beck,  looking  very  friendly. 

"  I  'm  always  brown  in  summer,"  acknowl- 
edged Betty  frankly.  "  Has  n't  Mary  grown 
like  everything  ?  I  did  n't  known  how  tall  I 
must  look  until  I  saw  her.  I  'm  so  glad  that 
school  is  done  ;  I  was  afraid  it  would  n't  be." 

"  She  goes  to  the  academy  now,  you  know," 
said  Mrs.  Beck.  "  The  term  ended  abruptly 
because  the  principal's  wife  met  with  affliction 
and  they  had  to  go  out  of  town  to  her  old 
home." 


56  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Betty,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  at  this 
point  an  instinctive  remembrance  of  Mrs. 
Beck's  love  for  dismal  tales,  so  she  hastened 
to  change  the  subject  of  conversation.  Mrs. 
Beck  was  very  kind  -  hearted  when  any  one 
was  ill  or  in  trouble.  Betty  herself  had  a  grate- 
ful memory  of  such  devotion  when  she  had  a 
long  childish  illness  once  at  Aunt  Barbara's, 
but  Mary  Beck's  mother  never  seemed  to  take 
half  the  pleasure  in  cheerful  things  and  in 
well  people  who  went  about  their  every-day 
affairs.  It  seemed  a  good  chance  now  to  open 
the  little  package  of  presents.  There  were 
two  pretty  Roman  cravats,  and  a  carved  Swiss 
box  with  a  quantity  of  French  chocolate  in  it, 
and  a  nice  cake  of  violet  soap,  and  a  pretty 
ivory  pin  carved  like  an  edelweiss,  like  one 
that  Betty  herself  wore  ;  for  the  captain  there 
was  a  photograph  of  Bergen  harbor  in  Nor- 
way, with  all  manner  of  strange  vessels  at 
the  wharves.  Then  for  Mrs.  Beck  Betty  had 
brought  a  pretty  handkerchief  with  some  fine 
embroidery  round  the  edge.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing little  heap  of  things.  "  I  have  been  get- 
ting them  at  different  times  and  keeping  them 
until  I  came,"  said  Betty. 


AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE.  57 

Mary  Beck  was  delighted,  as  well  she 
might  be,  and  yet  it  was  very  hard  to  express 
any  such  feeling.  Somehow  the  awkward 
feeling  with  which  she  went  to  make  the  call 
that  afternoon  was  again  making  her  dread- 
fully uncomfortable. 

The  old  captain  was  friendly  and  smiling, 
and  Mary  and  her  mother  said  "  Thank  you," 
a  good  many  times,  but  Mrs.  Beck  took  half 
the  pleasure  away  by  a  sigh  and  lament  that 
her  girl  could  n't  make  any  return. 

"  It  's  the  best  return  to  be  so  glad  to  see 
each  other,  Becky  !  "  said  Betty  Leicester,  sud- 
denly turning  to  her  friend  and  blushing  a 
good  deal  as  they  kissed  one  another,  while 
the  old  captain  gave  a  satisfied  humph  and 
turned  to  his  newspaper  again. 

Mrs.  Beck  was  really  much  pleased,  and  yet 
was  overwhelmed  with  a  suspicion  that  Betty 
thought  her  ungrateful.  She  was  sorry  that 
if  there  were  going  to  be  a  handkerchief  it 
had  not  been  one  with  a  black  border,  but 
after  all  this  was  a  pretty  one  and  very  fine  ; 
it  would  be  just  right  for  Mary  by  and  by. 

The  old  cat  seemed  to  know  the  young  vis- 
itor, and  came  presently  purring  very  loud  and 


58  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

rubbing  against  Betty's  gown,  and  was  promptly 
lifted  into  her  lap  for  a  little  patting  and 
cuddling  before  she  must  run  back  again  to 
the  aunts.  This  cat  had  been  known  to  Betty 
as  a  young  kitten,  and  she  and  Becky  had 
sometimes  dressed  her  with  a  neat  white  ruffle 
about  her  neck  to  which  they  added  a  doll's 
dress.  She  was  one  6f  the  limp  obliging  kit- 
tens which  make  such  capital  playmates,  and 
the  two  girls  laughed  a  great  deal  now  as  they 
reminded  each  other  of  certain  frolics  that  had 
taken  place.  Once  Mrs.  Beck  had  entertained 
the  Maternal  Meeting  in  her  staid  best  parlor, 
and  the  Busy  B's,  as  the  captain  sometimes 
called  them,  had  dressed  the  kitten  and  en- 
couraged her  to  enter  the  room  at  a  most 
serious  moment  in  the  proceedings.  Even 
Mrs.  Beck  laughed  about  it  now,  though  she 
was  very  angry  at  the  time.  Her  heart  seemed 
to  warm  more  and  more,  and  by  the  time  our 
friend  had  gone  she  was  in  really  good  spirits. 
Becky  must  keep  the  cake  of  soap  in  her 
upper  drawer,  she  said ;  nothing  gave  such  a 
nice  clean  smell  to  things.  It  seemed  to  her 
it  was  a  strange  present,  but  it  was  nice  to 
have  it,  and  all  the  things  were  pretty;  it 


AT  BECKY'S  HOUSE.  59 

was  n't  likely  that  any  of  them  were  very 
expensive. 

"  Oh  mother !  "  pleaded  Becky  affection- 
ately;  "and  then,  just  think!  you  said  last 
night  perhaps  she  hadn't  brought  me  any- 
thing, and  it  had  been  out  of  sight  out  of 
mind  with  her ! "  Mary  was  truly  fond  of 
her  friend,  but  she  could  not  help  looking  at 
life  sometimes  from  her  mother's  carping  point 
of  view.  It  was  good  for  her  to  be  so  pleased 
and  happy  as  she  was  that  evening,  and  she 
looked  at  her  new  treasures  again  and  pru- 
dently counted  the  seventeen  little  chocolates 
in  their  gay  papers  twice  over  before  she 
treated  herself  to  any.  She  could  keep  their 
little  cases  even  after  the  chocolates  were 
gone. 

Mrs.  Beck  mended  and  sewed  on  buttons 
long  after  the  captain  and  Mary  had  gone  to 
bed.  She  could  not  help  feeling  happier  for 
Betty  Leicester's  coming.  She  knew  that  she 
had  been  a  little  grumpy  to  the  child ;  but 
Betty  had  luckily  not  been  discomforted  by  it, 
and  had  even  thought,  as  she  ran  across  the 
street  in  the  dark  evening  and  up  the  long 
front  walk,  that  Becky's  mother  was  not  half 
so  disapproving  as  she  used  to  be. 


VI. 

THE   GARDEN   TEA. 

THERE  was  a  gnarled  old  pear-tree  of  great 
age  and  size  that  grew  near  Betty  Leicester's 
east  window.  By  leaning  out  a  little  she  could 
touch  the  nearest  bough.  Aunt  Barbara  and 
Aunt  Mary  said  that  it  was  a  most  beautiful 
thing  to  see  it  in  bloom  in  the  spring ;  and  the 
family  cats  were  fond  of  climbing  up  and  leap- 
ing across  to  the  window-sill,  while  there  were 
usually  some  birds  perching  in  it  when  the 
coast  was  clear  of  pussies. 

One  day  Betty  was  looking  over  from  Mary 
Beck's  and  saw  that  the  east  window  and  the 
pear-tree  branch  were  in  plain  sight ;  so  the 
two  girls  invented  a  system  of  signals:  one 
white  handkerchief  meant  come  over,  and  two 
meant  no,  but  a  single  one  in  answer  was  for 
yes.  A  yellow  handkerchief  on  the  bough  pro- 
posed a  walk ;  and  so  the  code  went  on,  and 
was  found  capable  of  imparting  much  secret 


THE   GARDEN  TEA.  61 

information.  Sometimes  the  exchange  of  these 
signals  took  a  far  longer  time  than  it  did  to 
run  across  from  house  to  house,  and  at  any 
rate  in  the  first  fortnight  Mary  and  Betty 
spent  the  greater  part  of  their  waking  hours 
together.  Still  the  signal  service,  as  they 
proudly  called  it,  was  of  great  use. 

One  morning,  when  Mary  had  been  sum- 
moned, Betty  came  rushing  to  meet  her. 

"  Aunt  Barbara  is  going  to  let  me  have  a 
tea-party.  What  do  you  think  of  that?  "  she 
cried. 

Mary  Beck  looked  pleased,  and  then  a 
doubting  look  crept  over  her  face. 

"  I  don't  know  any  of  the  boys  and  girls 
very  well  except  you,"  Betty  explained,  "  and 
Aunt  Barbara  likes  the  idea  of  having  them 
come.  Aunt  Mary  thinks  that  she  can't  come 
down,  for  the  excitement  would  be  too  much 
for  her,  but  I  am  going  to  tease  her  again  as 
soon  as  I  have  time.  It  is  to  be  a  summer, 
house  tea  at  six  o'clock  ;  it  is  lovely  in  the 
garden  then.  Just  as  soon  as  I  have  helped 
Serena  a  little  longer,  you  and  I  will  go  to 
invite  everybody.  Serena  is  letting  me  beat 
eggs." 


62  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

It  was  a  great  astonishment  that  Betty  should 
take  the  serious  occasion  so  lightly.  Mary 
Beck  would  have  planned  it  at  least  a  week 
beforehand,  and  have  worried  and  worked  and 
been  in  despair  ;  but  here  was  Betty  as  gay  as 
possible,  and  as  for  Aunt  Barbara  and  Serena 
and  Letty,  they  were  gay  too.  It  was  entirely 
mysterious. 

"  I  have  sent  word  by  Jonathan  to  the  Pick- 
nell  girls ;  he  had  an  errand  on  that  road. 
They  looked  so  old  and  scared  in  church  last 
Sunday  that  I  kept  thinking  that  they  ought 
to  have  a  good  time.  They  don't  come  in  to 
the  village  much,  do  they?"  inquired  Betty 
with  great  interest. 

"  Hardly  ever,  except  Sundays,"  answered 
Mary  Beck.  "  They  turn  red  if  you  only  look 
at  them,  but  they  are  always  talking  together 
when  they  go  by.  One  of  them  can  draw 
beautifully.  Oh,  of  course  I  go  to  school 
with  them,  but  I  don't  know  them  very  well." 

"  I  hope  they  '11  come,  don't  you  ?  "  said 
Betty,  whisking  away  at  the  eggs.  "  I  don't 
know  when  I  've  ever  been  where  I  could  have 
a  little  party.  I  can  have  two  or  three  girls 
to  luncheon  or  tea  almost  any  time,  especially 


THE   GARDEN  TEA.  63 

in  London,  but  that's  different.  Who  else 
now,  Becky  ?  Let 's  see  if  we  choose  the  same 
ones." 

"  Mary  and  Julia  Picknell,  and  Mary  and 
Ellen  Grant,  and  Lizzie  French,  and  George 
Max,  and  Frank  Crane,  and  my  cousin  Jiin 
Beck,  —  Dan 's  too  little.  They  would  be 
eight,  and  you  and  I  make  ten  —  oh,  that 's 
too  many ! " 

"  Dear  me,  no ! "  said  Betty  lightly.  "  I 
thought  of  the  Fosters,  too  "  — 

"  We  don't  have  much  to  do  with  the  Fos- 
ters," said  Mary  Beck.  "I  don't  see  why 
that  Nelly  Foster  started  up  and  came  to  see 
you.  I  never  go  inside  her  house  now.  Every- 
body despises  her  father  "  — 

"  I  think  that  Nelly  is  a  dear-looking  girl," 
insisted  Betty.  "  I  like  her  ever  so  much." 

"  They  acted  so  stuck-up  after  Mr.  Foster 
was  put  in  jail,"  Mary  went  on.  "  People 
pitied  them  at  first  and  were  carrying  about  a 
subscription-paper,  but  Mrs.  Foster  would  n't 
take  anything,  and  said  that  they  were  going 
to  support  themselves.  People  don't  like  Mrs. 
Foster  very  well." 

"Aunt  Barbara  respects   her  very  much. 


64  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

She  says  that  few  women  would  show  the 
courage  she  has  shown.  Perhaps  she  has  n't 
a  nice  way  of  speaking,  but  Aunt  Barbara  said 
that  I  must  ask  Harry  and  Nelly,  when  we 
were  talking  about  to-night."  Betty  could 
not  help  a  tone  of  triumph ;  she  and  Becky 
had  fought  a  little  about  the  Fosters  before 
this. 

"  Harry  is  just  like  a  wild  Indian,"  said 
Mary  Beck ;  "  he  goes  fishing  and  trapping 
almost  all  the  time.  He  won't  know  what  to 
do  at  a  party.  I  believe  he  makes  ever  so 
much  money  with  his  fish,  and  pays  bills  with 
it."  Becky  relented  a  little  now.  "  Oh,  dear, 
I  have  n't  anything  nice  enough  to  wear,"  she 
added  suddenly.  "  We  never  have  parties  in 
Tideshead,  except  at  the  vestry  in  the  winter  ; 
and  they  're  so  poky." 

"  Oh,  wear  anything  ;  it 's  going  to  be  hot, 
that 's  all,"  said  industrious  Betty,  in  her  busi- 
ness-like checked  apron ;  and  it  now  first 
dawned  upon  Becky's  honest  mind  that  it  was 
not  worth  while  to  make  one's  self  utterly 
miserable  about  one's  clothes. 

The  two  girls  went  scurrying  away  like  squir- 
rels presently  to  invite  the  guests.  Nelly  Fos- 


THE  GARDEN  TEA.  65 

ter  looked  delighted  at  the  thought  of  such  a 
pleasure. 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  Harry  will  say," 
she  added,  doubtfully. 

"  Please  ask  him  to  be  sure  to  come,"  urged 
Betty.  "•  I  should  be  so  disappointed,  and 
Aunt  Barbara  asked  me  to  say  that  she  de- 
pended upon  him,  for  she  knows  him  better 
than  she  does  almost  any  of  the  young  people." 
Nelly  looked  radiant  at  this,  but  Mary  Beck 
was  much  offended.  "  I  go  to  your  Aunt  Bar- 
bara's oftener  than  anybody,"  she  said  jeal- 
ously, as  they  came  away. 

"  She  asked  me  to  say  that,  and  I  did," 
maintained  Betty.  "  Don't  be  cross,  Becky, 
it 's  going  to  be  such  a  jolly  tea-party.  Why, 
here 's  Jonathan  back  again  already.  Oh, 
good  !  the  Picknells  are  happy  to  come." 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  quickly  made 
sure  of,  and  Betty  and  reluctant  Mary  went 
back  to  the  house.  It  made  Betty  a  little  dis- 
heartened to  find  that  her  friend  took  every 
proposition  on  the  wrong  side  ;  she  seemed  to 
think  most  things  about  a  tea-party  were  im- 
possible, and  that  all  were  difficult,  and  she 
saw  lions  in  the  way  at  every  turn.  It  struck 


66  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Betty,  who  was  used  to  taking  social  events 
easily,  that  there  was  no  pleasuring  at  all  in 
the  old  village,  though  people  were  always  say- 
ing how  gay  and  delightful  it  used  to  be  and 
how  many  guests  used  to  come  to  town  in  the 
summer. 

The  old  Leicester  garden  was  a  lovely  place 
on  a  summer  evening.  Aunt  Barbara  had  been 
surprised  when  Betty  insisted  that  she  wished 
to  have  supper  there  instead  of  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  but  Betty  had  known  too  many  out-of- 
door  feasts  in  foreign  countries  not  to  remem- 
ber how  charming  they  were  and  how  small 
any  dining-room  seems  in  summer  by  contrast. 
And  after  a  few  minutes'  thought,  Aunt  Bar- 
bara, too,  who  had  been  in  France  long  before, 
asked  Serena  and  Letty  to  spread  the  table 
under  the  large  cherry-tree  near  the  arbor ; 
and  there  it  stood  presently,  with  its  white 
cloth,  and  pink  roses  in  two  china  bowls,  all 
ready  for  the  sandwiches  and  bread  and  butter 
and  strawberries  and  sponge-cake,  and  chocolate 
to  drink  out  of  the  prettiest  cups  in  Tideshead. 
It  was  all  simple  and  gay  and  charming,  the 
little  feast ;  and  full  of  grievous  self -conscious- 
ness as  the  shyest  guest  might  have  been  when 


TEE   GARDEN  TEA.  67 

first  met  by  Betty  at  the  doorstep,  the  pleasure 
of  the  party  itself  proved  most  contagious,  and 
all  fears  were  forgotten.  Everybody  met  on 
common  ground  for  once,  without  any  thought 
of  self.  It  came  with  surprise  to  more  than 
one  girl's  mind  that  a  party  was  really  so 
little  trouble.  It  was  such  a  pity  that  some- 
body did  not  have  one  every  week. 

Aunt  Barbara  was  very  good  to  Harry  Fos- 
ter, who  seemed  at  first  much  older  and  soberer 
than  the  rest ;  but  Betty  demanded  his  ser- 
vices when  she  was  going  to  pass  the  sand- 
wiches again,  and  Letty  had  gone  to  the  house 
for  another  pot  of  chocolate.  "  I  will  take 
the  bread  and  butter ;  won't  you  please  pass 
these?"  she  said.  And  away  they  went  to 
the  rest  of  the  company,  who  were  scattered 
along  the  arbor  benches  by  twos  and  threes. 

"  I  saw  you  in  your  boat  when  I  first  came 
up  the  river,"  Betty  found  time  to  say.  "  I 
did  n't  know  who  you  were  then,  though  I  was 
sure  you  were  one  of  the  boys  whom  I  used  to 
play  with.  Some  time  when  Nelly  is  going 
down  could  n't  you  take  me  too  ?  I  can  row/' 

"Nelly  would  go  if  you  would.  I  never 
thought  to  ask  her.  I  always  wish  there  were 


68  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

somebody  else  to  see  how  pleasant  it  is  "— 
and  then  a  voice  interrupted  to  ask  what  Harry 
was  catching  now. 

"  Bass,"  said  Harry,  with  brightening  face. 
"  I  do  so  well  that  I  am  sending  them  down  to 
Riverport  every  day  that  the  packet  goes,  and 
I  wish  that  I  had  somebody  to  help  me.  You 
don't  know  what  a  rich  old  river  it  is  !  " 

"  Why,  if  here  is  n't  Aunt  Mary  !  "  cried 
Betty.  Sure  enough,  the  eager  voices  and  the 
laughter  had  attracted  another  guest.  And 
Aunt  Barbara  sprang  up  joyfully  and  called 
for  a  shawl  and  footstool  from  the  house  ;  but 
Betty  did  n't  wait  for  them,  and  brought  Aunt 
Mary  to  the  arbor  bench.  Nobody  knew  when 
the  poor  lady  had  been  in  her  own  garden  be- 
fore, but  here  she  was  at  last,  and  had  her 
supper  with  the  rest.  The  good  doctor  would 
have  been  delighted  enough  if  he  had  seen  the 
sight. 

Nothing  had  ever  tasted  so  good  as  that  out- 
of-door  supper.  The  white  June  moon  came 
up,  and  its  bright  light  made  the  day  longer ; 
and  when  everybody  had  eaten  a  last  piece  of 
sponge-cake,  and  the  heap  of  strawberries  on 
a  great  round  India  dish  had  been  leveled, 


THE   GARDEN  TEA.  69 

what  should  be  heard  but  sounds  of  a  violin. 
Betty  had  discovered  that  Seth  Pond,  —  the 
clumsy,  good-natured  Seth  of  all  people !  — 
had,  as  he  said,  "  ears  for  music,"  and  had 
taught  himself  to  play. 

So  they  had  a  country-dance  on  the  green, 
girls  and  boys  and  Aunt  Barbara,  who  had 
been  a  famous  dancer  in  her  youth  ;  and  those 
who  did  n't  know  the  steps  of  "  Money  Musk  " 
and  the  Virginia  reel  were  put  in  the  middle 
of  the  line,  and  had  plenty  of  time  to  learn  be- 
fore their  turns  came.  Afterward  Seth  played 
"Bonny  Doon,"  and  "Nelly  was  a  Lady,"  and 
"Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home,"  and  "An- 
nie Laurie,"  and  half  a  dozen  other  songs,  and 
everybody  sang,  but,  to  Betty's  delight,  Mary 
Beck's  voice  led  all  the  rest. 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  sky  when  the 
guests  went  away.  It  seemed  like  a  new  world 
to  some  young  folks  who  were  there,  and  every- 
body was  surprised  because  everybody  else 
looked  so  pretty  and  was  so  surprisingly  gay. 
Yet,  here  it  was,  the  same  old  Tideshead  after 
all! 

"  Aunt  Barbara,"  said  Betty,  as  that  aunt  sat 
on  the  side  of  Betty's  four-post  bed,  —  "  Aunt 


70  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Barbara,  don't  say  good -night  just  yet.  I 
must  talk  about  one  or  two  things  before  I 
forget  them  in  the  morning.  Mary  Picknell 
asked  me  ever  so  many  questions  about  some 
of  the  pictures,  but  she  knows  more  about 
them  than  I  do,  and  I  thought  I  would  ask 
her  to  come  some  day  so  that  you  could  tell 
her  everything.  She  ought  to  be  an  artist. 
Did  n't  you  see  how  she  kept  looking  at  the 
pictures?  And  then  Harry  Foster  knows  a 
lovely  place  down  the  river  for  a  picnic,  and 
can  borrow  boats  enough  beside  his  own  to 
take  us  all  there,  only  it 's  a  secret  yet.  Harry 
said  that  it  was  a  beautiful  point  of  land,  with 
large  trees,  and  that  there  was  a  lane  that 
came  across  the  fields  from  the  road,  so  that 
you  could  be  driven  down  to  meet  us,  if  you 
disliked  the  boats." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  going  on  the  water," 
said  Aunt  Barbara,  with  great  spirit.  "I 
knew  that  point,  and  those  oak-trees,  long 
before  either  of  you  were  born.  It  was  very 
polite  of  Harry  to  think  of  my  coming  with 
the  young  folks.  Yes,  we  '11  think  about  the 
picnic,  certainly,  but  you  must  go  to  sleep 
now,  Betty." 


THE   GARDEN  TEA.  71 

"  Aunt  Barbara  must  have  been  such  a  nice 
girl,"  thinks  Betty,  as  the  door  shuts.  "  And 
if  we  go,  Harry  must  take  her  in  his  boat. 
It  is  strange  that  Mary  Beck  should  not  like 
the  Fosters,  just  because  their  father  was  a 
scamp." 

But  the  room  was  still  and  dark,  and  sleepi- 
ness got  the  better  of  Betty's  thoughts  that 
night. 


VII 

THE  SIN  BOOKS. 

ONE  morning  Betty  was  hurrying  down 
Tideshead  street  to  the  post-office,  and  hap- 
pened to  meet  the  minister's  girls  and  Lizzie 
French,  who  were  great  friends  with  each 
other.  They  seemed  to  be  unusually  confiden- 
tial and  interested  about  something. 

"  We  've  got  a  secret  club  and  we  're  go- 
ing to  let  you  belong,"  said  Lizzie  French. 
"  Where  can  we  go  to  tell  you  about  it,  and 
make  you  take  the  oath  ?  " 

"  Come  home  with  me  just  as  soon  as  I  post 
this  letter,"  responded  Betty  with  great  pleas- 
ure. "  Do  you  think  my  front  steps  would 
be  a  good  place  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  too  hot ;  beside,  we  don't  want 
Mary  Beck  to  see  us,"  objected  Ellen  Grant, 
who  was  the  most  pale  and  quiet  of  the  two 
sisters.  They  were  both  pleasant,  persistent, 
mild-faced  girls,  who  never  seemed  tired  or  con- 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  73 

fused,  and  never  liked  to  change  their  minds 
or  to  go  out  of  their  own  way.  Usually  all  the 
other  girls  liked  to  do  as  they  said,  and  they 
were  accordingly  very  much  pleased  with  Betty, 
apparently  because  she  hardly  ever  agreed  with 
them. 

"  Let 's  go  to  walk,  then,"  said  Betty. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  Lizzie 
Grant  said  in  a  business-like  tone.  "  Let 's  go 
down  the  old  road  a  little  way,  toward  the 
river,  and  sit  under  the  black  cherry-tree 
on  the  stone  wall ;  you  know  how  cool  it 
is  there  in  the  morning?  I  can't  stay  but 
a  litfrle  while  any  way.  I  am  going  to  help 
mother." 

Nobody  objected  and  away  they  went  two 
by  two.  Evidently  there  was  serious  business 
on  hand,  which  could  by  no  means  be  told 
lightly  or  without  some  regard  to  the  sur- 
roundings. 

"  Now  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Betty,  when 
they  had  seated  themselves  under  the  old  black 
cherry-tree;  but  neither  of  the  girls  took  it 
upon  her  to  speak  first.  "I  promise  never, 
never  to  tell." 

Mary  Grant  took  a  thin,  square  little  book 


74  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

out  of  her  pocket,  half  of  a  tiny  account  book 
of  the  plainest  sort,  and  held  it  up  to  Betty  so 
that  she  could  see  the  letters  S.  B.  C.  on  the 
pale  brown  pasteboard  cover.  It  certainly 
looked  very  interesting  and  mysterious.  "  We 
thought  that  we  would  admit  another  mem- 
ber," said  Mary ;  "  but  it  is  a  very  difficult 
thing  to  belong,  and  you  must  hold  up  your 
right  hand  and  promise  on  your  word  of  honor 
that  you  will  never  speak  of  it  to  any  girl  in 
Tideshead." 

"  I  may  have  to  speak  of  it  to  papa.  I  al- 
ways tell  papa  if  I  am  not  quite  certain  about 
things.  He  said  a  great  while  ago  that  it  was 
the  safest  way.  I  mean  I  am  on  my  honor 
about  it,  that 's  all.  He  never  asks  me." 
Betty's  cheeks  grew  red  as  she  spoke,  but  she 
did  speak  bravely,  and  the  girls  were  more 
impressed  than  ever  by  the  seriousness  of  the 
club. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  she  will  have  to  tell 
him,  do  you,  girls  ? "  Lizzie  French  insisted. 
"  Any  way  we  want  you  to  belong,  Betty.  You 
be  the  one  to  tell  her,  Mary." 

"  It  is  a  society  to  help  us  not  to  say  things 
about  people,"  said  Mary  Grant  solemnly,  and 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  75 

Betty  Leicester  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief- 
She  thought  that  would  be  a  most  worthy  ob- 
ject, though  somewhat  poky. 

"  We  have  made  a  league  that  we  will  try 
to  break  ourselves  of  speaking  harshly  and 
making  fun  of  people,  and  of  not  standing  up 
for  them  when  others  talk  scandal.  There, 
you  see  this  book  is  ruled  into  little  squares 
for  the  days  of  the  week,  a  month  on  a  page, 
and  when  We  get  through  a  day  without  say- 
ing anything  against  anybody  we  can  put  a 
nice  little  cross  in,  but  when  we  have  broken 
the  pledge  we  must  mark  it  with  a  cipher,  and 
then  when  we  are  just  horrid  and  keep  on 
being  cross,  we  must  black  the  day  all  over. 
Then  once  a  week  we  have  to  show  the  books 
to  each  other  and  make  our  confessions." 

"  Would  n't  it  be  splendid,  if  we  could  have 
a  whole  week  of  good  marks,  to  wear  a  little 
badge  or  something  ?  "  proposed  Lizzie  French. 

"  Oh  Lizzie !  we  never  can,  it  will  be  so 
hard  to  get  through  one  single  day,"  Betty 
answered  quickly.  "  I  should  just  love  to  be- 
long, though ;  I  am  always  saying  ugly  things 
and  being  sorry.  What  does  S.  B.  C.  mean  ? 
How  did  you  ever  think  of  it  ?  " 


76  BETTY  LEICESTER, 

"The  Sin  Book  Club,"  EUen  Grant  ex- 
plained. "  Mary  and  I  heard  of  one  that  our 
cousin  belonged  to  at  boarding-school.  She 
said  that  it  took  weeks  and  weeks  for  some  of 
the  members  to  make  one  good  mark,  but 
after  you  get  into  the  habit  of  it,  you  find  it 
quite  easy.  I  will  let  you  take  my  book  to 
make  yours  by,  if  you  will  let  me  have  it  back 
to-night.  I  bought  a  little  book  for  Mary 
and  me  that  was  only  three  cents,  and  cut  it  in 
two;  and  Lizzie  has  n't  got  hers  yet,  so  you 
can  buy  one  together  and  go  halves." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  who  will  pay  the  two 
cents,"  laughed  Betty.  "  I  will,  and  then  you 
can  give  me  half  a  one-cent  lead  pencil  to 
make  change.  Papa  always  has  such  a  joke 
about  a  man  in  one  of  Mr.  Lowell's  poems 
who  used  to  change  a  board  nail  for  a  shingle 
nail  so  as  to  make  the  weight  come  right." 

"  No,  you  give  me  the  pencil,"  said  Lizzie, 
"  I  lost  mine  yesterday,"  and  the  new  mem- 
bers became  unduly  frivolous. 

"  Now  we  must  n't  laugh,  girls,  because  it  is  a 
solemn  moment,"  said  Ellen  Grant,  though  she 
did  not  succeed  in  looking  very  sober  herself. 

Betty   was    looking   at   Mary   Grant's   sin 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  77 

book,  which  had  kept  the  record  of  two  dajs, 
both  with  bad  marks.  If  Mary  had  failed,  what 
could  impulsive  Betty  hope  for  ?  it  was  one  of 
her  worst  temptations  to  make  fun  or  to  find 
petty  faults  in  people.  She  did  not  know 
what  her  friends  would  think  of  her  as  time 
went  on,  but  she  meant  to  try  very  hard. 

"  Just  think  how  lovely  it  will  be  if  we  learn 
never  to  say  anything  against  any  one !  Per- 
haps we  ought  to  make  it  a  big  club  instead  of 
a  little  one,"  but  one  of  the  girls  said  that  peo- 
ple would  laugh  and  would  be  watching  them. 

"  Ought  n't  we  to  ask  Becky  to  belong?  "  It 
was  difficult  for  Betty  to  ask  this  question,  but 
she  feared  that  her  dear  friend  and  neighbor's 
sharp  eyes  would  detect  the  secret  alliance,  and 
Mary  Beck  was  very  hard  to  console  when  she 
was  once  roused  into  displeasure.  Somehow 
Betty  liked  the  idea  of  belonging  to  a  club 
that  Mary  Beck  did  not  know  about.  She 
was  a  little  ashamed  of  this  feeling,  but  there 
it  was!  The  Grants  and  Lizzie  refused  to 
have  Becky  join,  at  any  rate  just  now ;  and  so 
Betty  said  no  more.  Perhaps  it  would  be  just 
as  well  at  first,  and  she  would  be  as  careful 
as  possible  to  gain  good  marks  for  her  friend's 


78  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

sake  as  well  as  her  own.  Then  the  four  mem- 
bers of  the  S.  B.  C.  came  back  together  into 
the  village,  and  if  the  black  cherry-tree  heard 
their  secret  it  never  told.  Whom  should  they 
meet  as  they  turned  the  corner  into  the  main 
street  but  Mary  Beck  herself,  and  Betty  for 
one  moment  felt  guilty  of  great  disloyalty. 

"  We  have  been  to  walk  a  little  way ;  I  met 
the  girls  as  I  was  going  to  the  post-office,  and 
we  just  went  down  the  old  road  and  sat  under 
the  cherry-tree,"  she  hastened  to  explain,  but 
Becky  was  in  a  most  friendly  mood  and  joined 
them  with  no  suspicion  of  having  been  left  out 
of  any  pleasure.  Betty  felt  a  secret  joy  in  be- 
longing to  the  club  while  Becky  did  not,  and  yet 
she  was  sorry  all  the  time  for  Becky,  who  had 
a  great  pride  in  being  at  the  front  when  any- 
thing important  was  going  on.  Becky  liked 
to  keep  Betty  Leicester  to  herself,  and  indeed 
the  two  girls  were  growing  more  and  more 
fond  of  each  other,  though  a  touch  of  jealousy 
in  one  and  a  spirit  of  independence  and  free- 
dom in  the  other  sometimes  blew  clouds  over 
their  sunny  spring  sky.  Mary  Beck  had  a 
way  of  seeing  how  people  treated  her  and  rat- 
ing them  accordingly — a  silly  self-compassion- 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  79 

ate  way  of  saying  that  one  was  good  to  her, 
and  a  surly  suspicion  of  another  who  did  not 
pay  her  an  expected  attention,  and  these  traits 
offended  Betty  Leicester,  who  was  not  given  to 
putting  either  herself  or  other  people  under  a 
microscope.  There  was  nothing  morbid  about 
Betty  and  no  sentimentality  in  her  way  of  look- 
ing at  herself.  Becky's  sensitiveness  and  prej- 
udice were  sometimes  very  tiresome,  but  they 
made  nobody  half  so  miserable  as  they  did 
Becky  herself;  the  talk  she  had  always  heard 
at  home  was  very  narrowing ;  a  good  deal  of 
fruitless  talk  about  small  neighborhood  affairs 
went  on  continually  and  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  real  interests  of  life.  It  was  a  house 
where  there  was  very  little  to  show  for  the  time 
that  was  spent.  Mary  Beck  and  her  mother 
let  many  chances  for  their  own  usefulness  and 
pleasure  slip  by,  while  they  said  mournfully 
that  everything  would  have  been  so  different 
if  Mary's  father  had  lived.  Betty  Leicester 
was  taught  to  do  the  things  that  ought  to  be 
done. 

The  Sin  Book  Club  continued  to  be  a  pro- 
found secret,  and  was  considered  of  great 
value.  Some  days  passed  without  a  second 


80  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

meeting  of  the  members  for  reports,  but  they 
gave  each  other  significant  looks  and  tried  very 
hard  to  gain  the  little  crosses  that  were  to  mark 
a  good  day.  Betty  was  in  despair  when  evening 
after  evening  she  had  to  put  down  a  cipher, 
and  it  was  a  great  humiliation  to  find  how  of- 
ten she  yielded  to  a  temptation  to  say  funny 
things  about  people.  To  be  sure  old  Mrs.  Max 
was  an  ugly  old  gossip,  but  Betty  need  not 
have  confided  this  opinion  to  Serena  and  Letty 
as  they  happened  to  look  out  of  the  kitchen  win- 
dows, to  see  Mrs.  Max  go  by.  Betty  had  suc- 
ceeded in  being  blameless  until  past  six  o'clock 
that  day,  and  it  was  the  fifth  day  of  trial ; 
lost  now,  and  black-marked  like  those  that 
had  gone  before.  She  went  back  to  the  gar- 
den and  sat  down  in  the  summer-house  much 
dejected.  The  light  that  came  through  the 
grape  and  clematis  leaves  was  dim  and  tinted 
with  green ;  it  was  a  little  damp  there  too,  and 
quite  like  a  sorrowful  little  hermitage.  It  is 
very  hard  work  trying  to  cure  a  fault.  Betty 
did  so  like  to  make  people  laugh,  and  she  was 
always  seeing  what  funny  things  people  looked 
like  ;  and  altogether  life  was  much  soberer  if 
one  could  no  longer  say  whatever  came  into 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  81 

one's  head.  She  was  sure  that  all  funny  per- 
sonalities did  not  make  people  think  the  less  of 
their  fellows,  but  it  seemed  as  if  most,  and  the 
very  funniest,  did.  Our  friend  dreaded  the  in- 
spection of  her  sin  book,  but  when  the  Grants 
and  Lizzie  French  showed  theirs  too  in  solemn 
conclave  there  was  only  one  good  mark  for  the 
whole  four.  This  was  Ellen  Grant's,  who  talked 
much  less  than  either  of  the  others  and  so  may 
have  found  that  silence  cost  less  effort. 

"  Even  if  we  never  succeed  it  will  make  us 
more  careful,"  Lizzie  French  said,  trying  to 
keep  up  good  courage. 

"I  keep  wishing  that  Mary  Beck  be- 
longed ; "  urged  Betty  loyally,  but  the  others 
were  resolute  and  insisted,  nobody  could  tell 
exactly  why,  that  Becky  would  spoil  it  all. 

Betty  was  valiant  enough  in  case  of  open 
war,  but  she  hated  heartily  —  as  who  does  not 
hate  ?  —  a  chilling  atmosphere  of  disapproval, 
in  which  no  good-fellowship  can  flourish.  Of 
course  the  club  soon  betrayed  its  common  in- 
terest, and  because  Mary  Beck  was  unobser- 
vant for  the  first  week  or  two,  Betty  took 
little  pains  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  and 
the  Grants  had  a  new  interest  in  common. 


82  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Then  one  day  Becky  did  not  come  over,  though 
the  white  handkerchief  was  displayed  betimes  ; 
and  when,  as  soon  as  possible,  Betty  hurried 
over  to  see  what  the  matter  was,  Becky 
showed  unmistakable  signs  of  briefness  and 
grumpiness  of  speech,  and  declared  that  she 
was  busy  at.  home,  and  evidently  did  not  care 
for  the  news  that  an  old  .ZEolian  harp  had 
been  discovered  on  a  high  upper  shelf  and 
carried  to  one  of  the  dormer  windows,  where 
it  was  then  wailing.  The  plaintive  strains 
of  it  would  have  suited  Becky's  spirit  and 
temper  of  mind  excellently.  It  did  not  occur 
to  Betty  until  she  was  going  home,  disap- 
pointed, that  the  club  was  beginning  to  make 
trouble ;  then  her  own  good  temper  was  spoiled 
for  that  day,  and  she  was  angry  with  Becky 
for  thinking  that  she  had  no  right  to  be  in- 
timate with  anybody  else.  So  serious  a  dis- 
agreement had  never  parted  them  before. 
Betty  Leicester  assured  herself  that  Mary 
knew  she  was  fond  of  her  and  liked  to  be  with 
her  best,  and  that  ought  to  be  enough.  The 
-<iEolian  harp  was  quite  forgotten. 

Later  in  the  day  Betty  happened   to  look 
across    the   street    as   she   was   shutting   the 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  83 

blinds  in  the  upper  hall,  and  saw  Mary  Beck 
come  proudly  down  her  short  front  walk  with 
her  best  hat  on  and  go  stiffly  away  without 
a  look  across.  The  sight  made  her  feel  mis- 
understood and  lonely ;  and  one  minute  later 
she  was  just  going  to  shout  to  Becky  when  she 
remembered  that  it  was  a  far  cry  and  would 
wake  the  aunts  from  their  afternoon  naps. 
Then  she  ran  lightly  down  the  wide  staircase 
and  all  the  way  to  the  gate  and  called  as  loud 
as  she  could,  "  Mary !  Mary ! "  but  either 
Becky  was  too  far  away  or  would  not  turn  her 
proud  head.  There  were  some  other  persons 
in  the  street,  who  looked  with  surprise  and  in- 
terest to  see  where  such  an  eager  shout  came 
from,  but  Betty  Leicester  had  turned  toward 
the  house  again  with  a  heartf  ul  of  rage  and 
sorrow.  It  seemed  to  be  the  sudden  and  un- 
looked  -  for  end  of  the  summer's  pleasure. 
When  Aunt  Barbara  waked  she  asked  Betty, 
being  somewhat  surprised  to  find  her  in  the 
house  alone,  to  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  vil- 
lage to  do  an  errand. 

It  was  good  to  have  something  to  do  beside 
growing  Grosser  and  crosser,  and  Betty  gladly 
hurried  away.  She  hoped  that  she  should 


84  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

meet  Becky,  and  yet  she  did  not  mean  to  make 
up  too  easily,  and  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Beck 
watching  her  out  of  a  front  window  she  felt 
certain  that  Mrs.  Beck  was  cross  too.  "  Let 
them  get  pleased  again  ! "  grumbled  Miss 
Betty  Leicester,  and  Mary  Beck  herself  had 
not  borne  a  more  forbidding  expression.  She 
lingered  a  moment  at  Nelly  Foster's  gate,  hop- 
ing to  find  Nelly  free,  but  the  noise  of  the 
sewing-machine  was  plainly  to  be  heard,  and 
Nelly  said  wistfully  that  she  could  not  go  out 
until  after  tea ;  then  she  would  come  down  to 
the  house  for  a  little  while  if  Betty  would  like 
it,  and  Betty  gladly  said  yes.  Her  heart  was 
shaken  as  she  walked  on  alone  and  came  to 
the  oak-tree  on  the  high  ridge  where  Becky 
had  taken  her  to  see  the  view  and  told  her 
that  she  always  called  it  their  tree,  in  that  first 
afternoon's  walk.  What  could  make  poor  old 
Becky  so  untrustful  and  unkind?  Perhaps 
after  all  everything  would  be  right  when  they 
met  again ;  it  might  be  one  of  Becky's  freaks, 
only  a  little  worse  than  usual.  Alas,  Mary 
with  Julia  Picknell,  who  happened  to  be  in 
the  village  that  afternoon,  came  out  of  one  of 
the  stores  as  the  returning  Betty  was  passing, 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  85 

and  Becky  looked  another  way  and  pushed  by, 
though  Betty  had  spoken  pleasantly  and  tried 
to  stop  her. 

"  I  don't  care  one  bit ;  you  're  rude  and 
hateful,  Mary  Beck ! "  said  Betty  hotly,  at 
which  Julia,  mild  little  friend  that  she  was, 
looked  frightened  and  amazed.  She  had 
thought  many  times  how  lovely  it  must  be  to 
live  in  town  and  have  friendships  of  a  close 
and  intimate  kind  with  the  girls.  She  pitied 
Betty  Leicester,  who  looked  as  if  she  could 
hardly  keep  from  crying;  but  the  grievous 
Becky  was  more  grumpy  than  before. 

Serena  was  walking  in  the  side  yard  in  her 
nice  plain  afternoon  dress,  and  somehow  Betty 
felt  more  like  seeking  comfort  from  her  than 
from  Aunt  Barbara,  and  was  glad  to  go  in  at 
the  little  gate  and  join  her  kind  old  friend. 

"  What 's  fell  upon  you  f "  asked  Serena, 
with  sincere  compassion. 

"  Mary  Beck  's  just  as  disagreeable  as  she 
can  be  to-day,"  responded  Betty,  regardless  of 
her  sin  book.  "  Serena !  I  just  hate  her,  and 
I  hate  that  horrid  best  hat  of  hers  with  the 
feather  in  it." 


86  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Oh,  no  you  don't,  sweetin's  ; "  Serena  pro- 
tested peacefully.  "  You  '11  be  keepin'  com- 
pany same 's  ever  to-morrow.  Now  I  think 
of  't,  you  've  been  off  a  good  deal  with  the 
Grants  and  that  French  girl  "  (not  a  favorite 
of  Serena's)  ;  "  I  wonder  if  that  's  all  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  no  "  —  wavered  Betty.  "  Don't  you 
tell  anybody,  but  I  do  belong  to  a  little  club, 
but  Becky  does  n't  really  understand,  for  we  've 
kept  it  very  secret  indeed." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  exclaimed  Serena. 

"  Yes,  and  it  's  for  such  a  good  object.  I  '11 
tell  you  some  time,  perhaps,  but  we  want  to 
cure  ourselves  of  a  fault."  It  seemed  no  harm 
to  tell  good  old  Serena  ;  the  compact  had  only 
been  that  none  of  the  other  girls  should 
know.  "  We  keep  a  little  book,  and  we  can 
have  a  good  mark  at  night  if  we  have  n't  said 
anything  against  anybody,  but  to-day  I  shall 
have  such  a  black  one  !  It  makes  us  careful 
how  we  speak ;  truly,  Serena  ;  but  Becky 
does  n't  know,  and  she 's  making  me  feel  so 
badly  just  because  she  suspects  something." 

"  The  tongue  is  an  evil  member,"  said 
Serena.  "I  don't  know  but  doing  things  is 
full  as  bad  as  say  in'  'em,  though.  I  s'pose 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  87 

you  ain't  kind  of  flaunted  it  a  little  speck  that 
you  had  some  secret  amon'st  you,  to  spite 
Mary  ?  " 

"  She  was  stuffy  about  it  and  she  had  no 
right  to  be,"  Betty  said  this  at  first  hastily, 
and  then  added  :  "  I  did  wish  yesterday  thsL 
she  would  ask  to  belong  and  find  that  for  once 
she  couldn't." 

Serena  took  Betty's  light  hand  in  her  own 
work-worn  one  and  held  it  fast.  "  Le's  come 
and  set  on  the  doorstep  a  spell,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  something  about  me  an' 
a  girl  I  thought  everything  of  when  we  was 
young. 

"  She  was  real  pretty,  and  we  went  together 
and  had  our  young  men  —  not  serious,  only 
kind  o'  going  together ;  an'  Cynthy  an'  me 
we  had  a  misunderstandin'  o'  one  another  and 
we  did  n't  speak  for  much  's  a  fortnight  an' 
said  spiteful  things.  I  was  here  same 's  I  be 
now,  an'  your  Aunt  Barbara,  she  was  young 
too,  an'  the  old  lady,  Madam  Leicester,  she  was 
alive  and  they  all  was  inquirin'  what  had  come 
over  me.  I  used  to  have  a  pretty  voice  then, 
and  I  would  n't  go  to  singin'-school  or  evenin' 
jneetin'  nor  nothin'.  I  set  out  to  leave  here  an' 


88  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

my  good  kind  home  an'  go  off  to  Lowell  work- 
ing in  the  mill,  't  was  when  so  many  did,  and 
girls  liked  it.  Cynthy  lived  to  the  minister's 
folks.  I  've  never  got  over  it  how  ugly  spoken 
I  was  about  that  poor  girl,  and  she  used  to 
look  kind  of  beseechin'  at  me  the  two  or  three 
times  we  met,  as  if  she  'd  make  up  if  I  would, 
but  I  would  n't.  An'  don't  you  think,  one 
night  her  brother  come  after  her  to  take  her 
home,  up  Great  Hill  way,  and  the  horse  got 
scared  and  threw  'em  out  on  the  ice ;  an'  when 
they  picked  Cynthy  up  she  was  just  breathin' 
an'  that  was  all,  an'  never  spoke  nor  knew 
nothin'  again.  'T  was  at  the  foot  o'  that  hill 
just  this  side  o'  the  Picknells.  It  give  me  a 
fit  o'  sickness  ;  it  did  so,"  said  Serena  mourn- 
fully. "  I  can't  bear  to  think  about  her  never. 
Oh,  she  was  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  you  ever 
saw.  I  try  to  go  every  summer  an'  lay  a 
bunch  o'  pink  roses  on  to  her  grave  ;  she  used 
to  like  'em.  I  know  't  was  a  fault  o'  youth 
an'  hastiness,  but  I  ain't  never  forgot  it  all 
my  long  life.  I  tell  you  with  a  reason.  Folks 
says  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel  but  only 
one  to  end  it.  Now  you  bear  that  in  your 
mind." 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  89 

Betty  glanced  at  old  Serena,  and  saw  two 
great  tears  slowly  running  down  her  faded 
cheek.  She  was  much  moved  by  the  sad  little 
story,  and  Serena's  pretty  friend  and  the  pink 
roses.  She  wondered  what  the  quarrel  had 
been  about,  but  she  did  not  like  to  ask,  and  as 
Serena  still  held  one  hand  she  put  the  other 
over  it,  while  Serena  took  the  corner  of  her 
afternoon  apron  to  wipe  away  the  tears. 

"  It 's  very  hard  to  be  good,  is  n't  it,  Serena 
dear?"  asked  Betty. 

"  It 's  master  hard,  sweetin's,"  answered  Se- 
rena gravely,  —  "  master  hard ;  but  it  can  be 
done  with  help."  They  sat  there  on  the  shady 
doorstep  for  some  minutes  without  speaking. 
A  robin  was  chirping  loud,  as  if  for  rain,  high 
in  one  of  the  elms  overhead,  and  the  sun  was 
getting  low.  Presently  Serena  was  mindful  of 
her  evening  duties  and  rose  to  go  in,  but  not 
before  Betty  had  put  both  arms  round  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"  There,  there !  somebody  '11  see  you,"  pro- 
tested the  kind  soul,  but  her  face  shone  with 
joy.  "  Which  d'  you  want  for  your  supper, 
shortcakes  or  some  o'  them  crispy  rye  ones  ?  " 
she  asked,  trying  to  be  very  matter-of-fact.  As 


90  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

for  Betty,  she  turned  and  went  down  the  yard 
and  out  of  the  carriage  gate  and  straight  across 
the  wide  street.  She  opened  the  Becks'  front 
door  and  saw  Becky  at  the  end  of  the  entry 
trying  to  escape  to  the  garden. 

"  Don't  let 's  be  grumpy,"  she  said  in  a 
friendly  tone,  "  I  've  come  over  to  make  up." 

Becky  tried  to  preserve  a  stern  expression, 
but  somehow  there  was  a  warmth  at  her  heart 
which  suddenly  came  to  the  surface  in  a  smile 
and  the  two  girls  were  friends  again.  That 
night  Betty  put  down  a  black  mark,  but  not 
without  feeling  that  the  day  had  ended  well  in 
spite  of  its  dark  shadows. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  we  ought  to  keep  the 
sin  books  secret,"  she  told  the  members  of  the 
club  one  afternoon  when  the  second  week's  trial 
was  over  and  there  had  been  four  or  five  good 
days  for  encouragement.  "  I  don't  wish  every- 
body to  know,  but  now  that  we  find  how  much 
good  they  do  us,  we  ought  to  let  somebody  else 
try ;  only  Becky  and  the  Picknells  and  Nelly 
Foster." 

But  there  was  no  expression  of  approval. 

"  Then  I  'm  going  to  do  this  :  not  tell  them 
about  this  club,  but  behave  as  if  it  was  some- 


THE  SIN  BOOKS.  91 

thing  new  and  start  another  club.     I  could  be- 
long to  two  as  well  as  one,  you  know." 

"  I  would  n't  be  such  a  copy-cat,"  said  Liz- 
zie French  quickly.  "  It 's  our  secret ;  we  shall 
be  provoked  that  we  ever  asked  you,"  and  with 
this  verdict  Betty  was  forced  to  be  contented. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  taken  most  inflexible 
vows,  but  there  was  a  pleasing  excitement  in 
such  dark  mystery.  The  girls  had  to  employ 
much  stratagem  in  order  to  have  their  weekly 
meetings  unsuspected,  for  Betty  was  deter- 
mined not  to  make  any  more  trouble  among 
her  friends.  When  she  was  first  in  Tideshead 
she  often  felt  more  enlightened  than  her  neigh- 
bors, as  if  she  had  been  beyond  those  bounds 
and  experiences  of  every-day  life  known  to  the 
other  girls,  but  she  soon  discovered  herself  to 
be  single-handed  and  weak  before  their  force 
of  habit  and  prejudice.  With  all  their  friend- 
liness and  affection  for  Betty  Leicester  they 
held  their  own  with  great  decision,  and  some- 
times she  found  herself  nothing  but  a  despised 
minority.  This  was  very  good  for  her,  espe- 
cially when,  as  it  sometimes  happened,  she  was 
quite  in  the  wrong,  while  if  she  were  right  she 
became  more  sure  of  it  and  was  able  to  make 
her  reasons  clear. 


92  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

There  were  several  solemn  evening  meetings 
of  the  Sin  Book  Club  after  this ;  the  favorite 
place  of  assemblage  was  a  shady  corner  of  Liz- 
zie French's  damp  garden,  where  the  records 
were  sorrowfully  inspected  by  the  fleeting  light 
of  burnt  matches,  and  gratified  crowds  of  mos- 
quitoes forced  the  sessions  to  be  extremely 
brief.  Whether  it  was  that  new  interests  took 
the  place  of  the  club,  or  whether  the  members 
thought  best  to  keep  their  trials  to  themselves, 
no  one  can  say,  but  by  the  middle  of  August 
the  regular  meetings  had  ceased.  Yet  some- 
times the  little  books  came  accidentally  out  of 
pocket  with  a  member's  handkerchief,  and 
were  not  without  a  good  and  lasting  effect 
upon  four  quick  young  tongues ;  perhaps  this 
will  be  seen  as  the  story  goes  on. 


vm. 

A  CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS. 

THE  summer  days  flew  by.  Some  letters 
came  from  Mr.  Leicester  on  his  rapid  journey 
northward,  and  Betty  said  once  that  it  seemed 
months  since  she  left  England  instead  of  a 
few  weeks,  everybody  was  so  friendly  and 
pleasant.  Tideshead  was  most  delightful  to 
a  girl  who  had  been  used  to  seeing  strange 
places  and  to  knowing  nobody  but  papa  at 
first,  and  only  getting  acquainted  by  degrees 
with  the  lodgings  people  and  the  shops,  and 
perhaps  with  some  new  or  old  friends  of 
papa's  who  lived  out  of  the  town.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  stayed  for  many  weeks  in  rough 
places  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  going  from 
village  to  village  and  finding  many  queer  peo- 
ple, and  sometimes  being  a  little  lonely  when 
her  father  was  away  on  his  scientific  quests. 
Mr.  Leicester  insisted  that  Betty  learned  more 
than  she  would  from  books  in  seeing  the  coun- 


94  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

try  and  the  people,  and  Betty  herself  liked  it 
much  better  than  if  she  had  been  kept  steadily 
at  her  lessons.  The  most  doleful  time  that  she 
could  remember  was  once  when  papa  had  gone 
to  the  south  of  Italy  late  in  spring  and  had 
left  her  at  a  French  convent  school  until  his 
return.  However,  there  were  delightful  things 
to  remember,  especially  about  some  of  the  good 
sisters  whom  Betty  learned  to  love  dearly,  and 
it  may  be  imagined  how  brimful  of  stories  she 
was,  after  all  these  queer  and  pleasant  experi- 
ences, and  how  short  she  made  the  evenings  to 
Aunt  Barbara  and  Aunt  Mary  by  recounting 
them.  It  was  no  use  for  the  ladies  to  worry 
any  more  about  Betty's  being  spoiled  by  such 
an  erratic  course  of  education,  as  they  often 
used  to  worry  while  she  was  away.  They  had 
blamed  Betty's  father  for  letting  her  go  about 
with  him  so  much,  but  there  did  not  seem  to 
be  any  great  harm  wrought  after  all.  She 
knew  a  great  many  things  that  she  never  would 
have  known  if  she  had  stayed  at  school.  Still, 
she  had  a  great  many  things  to  learn,  and  the 
summer  in  Tideshead  would  help  to  teach  her 
those.  She  was  really  a  home-loving  girl,  our 
Betty  Leicester,  and  the  best  part  of  any  new 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  95 

town  was  always  the  familiar  homelike  place 
that  she  and  papa  at  once  made  in  it  with 
their  "kits,"  as  Betty  called  their  traveling 
array  of  books  and  a  few  little  pictures,  and 
papa's  special  kits  and  collections  of  the  time 
being.  Aunt  Barbara  could  never  know  upon 
how  many  different  rooms  her  little  framed 
photograph  had  looked.  She  had  grown  older 
since  it  was  taken,  but  when  she  said  so  Betty 
insisted  that  it  was  a  picture  of  herself  and 
would  always  look  exactly  like  her.  Betty  had 
grown  so  attached  to  it  that  it  was  still  dis- 
played on  the  dressing-table  of  the  east  bed- 
room, even  though  the  original  was  hourly  to 
be  seen. 

In  this  summer  quiet  of  the  old  town  it 
seemed  impossible  that  papa  should  not  come 
hurrying  home,  as  he  used  in  their  long  Lon- 
don winters,  to  demand  an  instant  start  for 
some  distant  place.  When  the  traveling 
kit  was  first  bestowed  in  the  lower  drawer 
of  one  of  the  deep  bureaus,  Betty  felt  as  if  it 
might  have  to  come  out  again  next  day,  but 
there  it  stayed,  and  was  abandoned  to  neglect 
unless  its  owner  needed  the  tumbler  in  its 
stiff  leather  box  for  a  picnic,  or  thought  of  a 


96  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

particular  spool  that  might  be  found  in  the 
traveling  work-bag.  But  with  all  the  quiet 
and  security  of  her  surroundings,  sometimes 
her  thoughts  followed  papa  most  wistfully,  or 
she  wondered  what  her  friends  were  doing  on 
the  other  side  of  the  sea.  It  was  very  queer  to 
be  obliged  to  talk  about  entirely  new  and  dif- 
ferent things,  and  Tideshead  affairs  alone,  and 
not  to  have  anybody  near  who  knew  the  same 
every-day  life  that  had  stopped  when  she  came 
to  Tideshead,  and  so  letters  were  most  wel- 
come. Indeed,  they  made  a  great  part  of  the 
summer's  pleasure.  Suppose  we  read  a  hand- 
ful as  if  we  had  picked  them  from  Betty's 
pocket : — 

INTEKLAKEN,  July  2. 

MY  DEAE  BETTY,  —  It  was  very  good  of 
you  to  write  me  so  soon.  You  would  be  sure 
that  I  was  eager  to  hear  from  you,  and  to  know 
whether  you  had  a  good  voyage  and  found 
yourself  contented  in  Tideshead.  I  am  sure 
that  your  grandaunts  are  even  more  glad  to 
have  you  than  I  was  sorry  to  let  you  go.  But 
we  must  have  a  summer  here  together  one  of 
these  days ;  you  would  be  sure  to  like  Inter- 
laken.  It  seems  to  me  pleasanter  and  quainter 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  97 

than  ever  ;  that  is,  if  one  takes  the  trouble  to 
step  a  little  one  side  of  the  torrent  of  tourists. 
Our  rooms  in  the  old  pension  are  well  lighted 
and  aired,  and  two  of  my  windows  give  on  the 
valley  toward  the  Jungfrau  and  the  high  green 
mountain  slopes.  Every  morning  since  we 
have  been  here  I  have  looked  out  to  see  a  fresh 
dazzling  whiteness  of  new  snow  that  has  cov- 
ered the  Jungfrau  in  the  night,  and  we  always 
say  with  a  sigh  every  evening,  as  we  look  up 
out  of  the  shadowy  valley  and  see  the  high  peak 
still  flushed  with  red  sunset  light,  that  such 
clear  weather  cannot  possibly  last  another  day. 
There  are  some  old  Swiss  chalets  across  the 
green,  and  we  hear  pleasant  sounds  of  every- 
day life  now  and  then ;  last  night  there  was  a 
festival  of  some  sort,  and  the  young  people 
sang  very  loud  and  very  late,  jodeling  famously 
and  as  if  breath  never  failed  them.  I  suppose 
that  the  girls  have  already  written  to  you,  and 
that  you  will  have  two  full  descriptions  of 
our  scramble  up  to  one  of  the  highest  chalets 
which  I  can  see  now  as  I  look  up  from  my 
writing-table,  like  a  toy  from  a  Niirnberg  box 
with  a  tiny  patch  of  greenest  grass  beside  it 
and  two  or  three  tufts  of  trees.  In  truth  it  is 


98  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

a  good-sized,  very  old  house,  and  the  green 
square  is  a  large  field.  It  is  so  steep  that  I 
wonder  all  the  small  children  have  not  rolled 
out  of  the  door  and  down  to  the  valley  one 
after  the  other,  which  is  indeed  a  foolish  re- 
mark to  have  made. 

I  take  great  pleasure  in  my  early  morning 
walks,  in  which  you  have  so  often  kept  me 
company,  dear  child.  I  meet  the  little  peasants 
coming  down  from  the  hillsides  to  eight  o'clock 
school  in  their  quaint  long  frocks  like  little  old 
fairies,  they  look  so  wise  and  sedate.  Often 
I  go  to  the  village  of  Unterseen,  just  beyond 
the  great  modern  hotels,  but  looking  as  if  it 
belonged  to  another  century  than  ours.  We 
have  some  friends,  artists,  who  have  lodgings 
in  one  of  the  old  houses,  and  when  I  go  to  see 
them  I  envy  them  heartily.  Here  it  is  very 
comfortable,  but  some  of  the  people  at  table 
d'hote  are  very  tiresome  to  see,  noisy  strangers, 
who  eat  their  dinners  in  most  unpleasant  fash- 
ion ;  but  I  should  not  forget  two  delightful 
German  ladies  from  Hanover,  who  are  taking 
their  first  journey  after  many  years,  and  are 
most  simple  and  enviable  in  their  deep  enjoy- 
ment of  the  Kursaal  and  other  pleasures 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  99 

easily  to  be  had.  But  I  must  not  write  too 
long  about  familiar  pictures  of  travel.  I  will 
not  even  tell  you  our  enthusiastic  plan  for  a 
long  journey  afoot  which  will  take  nine  days 
even  with  the  best  of  weather.  Ada  and 
Bessie  will  be  sure  to  keep  a  journal  for  your 
benefit  and  their  own.  Are  you  really  well, 
my  dear  Betty,  and  busy,  and  do  you  find 
yourself  making  new  friends  with  your  old 
friends  and  playmates?  It  goes  without  say- 
ing that  you  are  missing  your  papa,  but  be- 
fore one  knows  we  shall  all  be  at  home  in 
London,  as  hurried  and  surprised  as  ever  with 
the  interesting  people  and  events  that  pass 
by.  Mr.  Duncan  is  to  join  us  for  the  walk- 
ing tour,  and  has  planned  at  least  one  daring 
ascent  with  the  Alpine  Club.  I  came  upon 
his  terrible  shoes  this  morning  in  one  of 
his  boxes  and  they  made  me  quite  gloomy. 
Pray  give  my  best  regards  to  Miss  Leicester, 
and  Miss  Mary  Leicester;  they  seem  very 
dear  friends  to  me  already,  and  when  I  come 
to  America  I  shall  be  seeing  old  friends  for 
the  first  time,  which  is  always  charming.  I 
leave  the  girls  to  write  their  own  words  to  you, 
but  Standish  desires  her  duty  to  Miss  Betty, 


100  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

and  says  that  her  winter  coat  is  to  be  new- 
lined,  if  she  would  kindly  bear  it  in  mind: 
the  silk  is  badly  frayed,  if  Standish  may  say 
so !  I  do  not  think  from  what  I  know  of  the 
American  climate  that  you  will  be  needing  it 
yet,  but  dear  old  Standish  is  very  thoughtful 
of  all  her  charges.  We  had  only  a  flying  note 
from  your  papa,  written  on  his  way  north,  and 
shall  be  glad  when  you  can  send  us  news  of 
him.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  child,  and  make 
you  a  blessing  !  I  hope  that  you  will  do  good 
and  get  good  in  this  quiet  summer.  Write 
to  me  often  ,*  I  feel  as  if  you  were  almost  my 
own  girl.  Yours  most  tenderly, 

MARY  DUNCAN. 

From  papa,  these  :  — 

DEAREST  BETTY,  —  This  morning  it  is  a 
wild  country  all  along  the  way,  untamed  and 
unhumanized  for  the  most  part,  and  we  go 
flying  along  through  dark  forests  and  forlorn 
burnt  lands  from  tiny  station  to  station.  I  am 
getting  a  good  bit  of  writing  done  with  the  only 
decent  stylographic  pen  I  ever  saw.  I  thought 
I  had  brought  plenty  of  pencils,  but  they  were 
not  in  my  small  portmanteau,  and  after  going 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  101 

to  the  baggage-car  and  putting  everybody  to 
great  trouble  to  get  out  my  large  one,  they 
were  not  there  either.  Can  any  one  explain  ? 
I  found  the  dear  small  copy  of  Florio's  "  Mon- 
taigne" which  you  must  have  tucked  in  at  the 
last  moment.  I  like  to  have  it  with  me  more 
than  I  can  say.  You  must  have  bought  it  that 
last  morning  when  I  had  to  leave  you  to  go  to 
Cambridge.  I  do  so  like  to  own  such  a  Betty ! 
Why  do  you  still  wish  that  you  had  come  with 
me  ?  Tideshead  is  much  the  best  place  in  the 
world.  I  send  my  dear  love  to  the  best  of  aunts, 
and  you  must  assure  Serena  and  Jonathan 
and  all  my  old  friends  of  my  kind  remem- 
brance. I  wish  every  day  that  our  friend 
Mr.  Duncan  could  have  come  with  me.  The 
country  seems  more  and  more  wide  and  won- 
derful, and  I  am  quite  unconscious  now  of  the 
motion  of  the  cars  and  feel  as  fresh  every  morn- 
ing and  as  sleepy  every  night  as  possible ;  so 
don't  worry  about  me,  but  pick  me  a  sprig  of 
Aunt  Barbara's  sweetbrier  roses  now  and  then, 
and  try  not  to  be  displeasing  to  any  one,  dear 
little  girl.  Your  fond  father, 

THOMAS  LEICESTER. 


102  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

CANADIAN  PACIFIC  RAILWAY,  18th  June. 
DEAR  BETTY,  —  The  pencils  all  tumbled  on 
the  car-floor  out  of  my  light  overcoat  pocket. 
I  then  recalled  somebody's  command  that  I 
should  put  them  into  the  portmanteau  at  once, 
ihe  day  they  came  home  from  the  stationer's. 
£  have  found  a  fortune-telling,  second-sighted 
person  in  the  car.  She  has  the  section  next 
to  mine  and  has  been  directed  by  a  familiar 
spirit  to  go  to  Seattle.  She  has  a  parrot  with 
her,  and  they  are  both  very  excitable  and 
communicative.  She  just  told  me  that  it  is 
revealed  to  her  that  my  youngest  boy  will 
have  a  genius  for  sculpture.  I  miss  you  more 
than  usual  to-day.  You  could  help  me  with 
some  copying,  and  there  is  positively  nothing 
interesting  to  see  out  of  the  window;  what 
there  is  of  uninteresting  twirls  itself  about. 
We  shall  soon  be  reaching  the  mountains,  in 
fact,  I  have  just  caught  my  first  glimpse  of 
them  beyond  these  great  plains.  I  must  really 
have  some  one  to  write  for  me  next  year,  but 
this  winter  we  keep  holiday,  you  and  I,  if  we 
get  in  for  nothing  new.  It  pleases  me  to  write 
to  you  and  takes  up  the  long  day.  You  will 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  103 

have  finished  "  L'Allegro  "  by  this  time ;  sup- 
pose you  learn  two  of  the  "  Sonnets  "  next.  I 
wish  you  to  know  your  Milton  as  well  as  pos- 
sible, but  I  am  sorry  to  have  you  take  it  while 
I  am  away.  Take  Lowell's  "  Biglow  Papers  " 
and  learn  the  Spring  poem.  You  will  find 
nothing  better  to  have  in  your  mind  in  the 
Tideshead  June  weather.  And  so  good-by  for 
this  day.  T.  LEICESTER. 

Mr  DEAR  BETTY,  —  Your  letter  is  very 
good,  and  I  am  more  glad  than  ever  that  you 
chose  to  go  to  Tideshead.  You  will  learn  so 
much  from  Aunt  Barbara  that  I  wish  my  girl 
to  know  and  to  be.  And  you  must  remember, 
in  Aunt  Mary's  self-pitying  moments,  all  her 
sympathy  and  her  true  love  for  us  both,  and 
remember  that  she  has  in  her  character  some- 
thing that  makes  her  the  dearest  being  in  the 
world  to  such  a  woman  as  Aunt  Barbara.  She 
is  a  person,  in  fact  they  both  are,  to  be  liked 
and  appreciated  more  and  more.  You  and 
your  Mary  Beck  interest  me  very  much,  Are 
you  sure  that  it  is  wise  to  call  her  Becky  ?  I 
thought  that  she  was  a  new  girl,  but  a  nick- 
name is  indeed  hard  to  droo.  I  remember 


104  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

her,  a  good  little  red-cheeked  child.  Let  me 
say  this  :  You  have  indeed  lived  a  wider  sort 
of  life,  but  I  fear  that  I  have  made  you  spread 
your  young  self  over  too  great  a  space,  while 
your  Becky  has  stepped  patiently  to  and  fro  in 
a  smaller  one.  You  each  have  your  advan- 
tages and  disadvantages,  so  be  "  very  observ- 
ant and  respectful  of  your  neighbor,"  as  that 
good  old  Scottish  preacher  prayed  for  us  in 
Kelso.  Be  sure  that  you  don't  "  feel  superior," 
as  your  Miss  Murdon  used  to  say.  It  is  a 
great  thing  to  know  Tideshead  well.  Remem- 
ber Selborne  and  how  famous  that  town  came 
to  be !  Yours  fondly, 

T.L. 

INTERLAKEN,  July  llth. 

DEAR  BETTY,  —  Ada  and  I  mean  to  take 
turns  in  writing  to  you,  —  one  letter  on  Sun- 
day and  one  in  the  middle  of  the  week ;  for  if 
we  write  together  we  shall  tell  you  exactly  the 
same  things.  So,  you  see,  this  is  my  turn. 
We  do  so  wish  for  you  and  think  that  you 
cannot  possibly  be  having  so  much  fun  in 
Tideshead  as  if  you  had  come  with  us.  We 
see  such  droll  people  in  traveling ;  they  do  not 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  105 

look  as  if  they  were  going  anywhere,  but  as 
if  they  were  lost  and  trying  hard  to  find  their 
way  back,  poor  dears !  There  was  an  old  wo- 
man sitting  near  us  on  a  bench  with  a  stupid  - 
looking  young  man,  to  hear  the  band  play, 
and  when  it  stopped  she  said  to  him :  "  Now 
we  've  only  got  three  tunes  more,  and  they  will 
soon  be  done."  We  wondered  why  she  could  n't 
go  and  do  something  else  if  she  hated  them  so 
much.  Ada  and  I  play  a  game  every  morning 
when  we  walk  in  the  town :  We  take  sides  and 
one  has  the  Germans  and  one  the  English,  and 
then  see  which  of  us  can  count  the  most.  Of 
course  we  don't  always  know  them  apart,  and 
then  we  squabble  for  little  families  that  pass 
by,  and  Ada  is  sure  they  are  Germans,  —  you 
know  how  sure  Ada  always  is  if  she  feels 
a  little  doubtful !  —  but  yesterday  there  were 
Cook's  tourists  as  thick  as  ants  and  so  she  had 
no  chance  at  all.  Miss  Winter  writes  that  she 
will  be  ready  to  join  us  the  first  of  August, 
which  will  be  delightful,  and  mamma  won't 
have  us  to  worry  about.  She  said  yesterday 
that  we  were  much  less  wild  without  you  and 
Miss  Winter,  and  we  told  her  that  it  was  be- 
cause life  was  quite  triste.  She  wishes  to  go 


106  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

to  some  far  little  villages  quite  off  the  usual 
line  of  travel,  with  papa,  and  does  not  yet 
know  whether  to  go  now  and  take  us,  or  wait 
and  leave  us  with  Miss  Winter.  I  promised 
to  be  triste  if  she  would  let  us  go.  Triste  is 
my  word  for  everything.  Do  you  still  wear 
out  two  or  three  dozen  hates  a  day?  Ada  said 
this  morning  that  you  would  hate  so  many  hard 
little  green  pears  for  breakfast;  but  we  are 
coming  to  plum-time  now,  and  they  are  so  good 
and  sweet.  Every  morning  such  a  nice  Swiss 
maiden  called  Marie  (they  are  all  Maries,  I 
believe)  comes  and  bumps  the  corner  of  her 
tray  against  our  door  and  smiles  a  very  wide 
smile  and  says  "Das  friihstiick"  in  exactly 
the  same  tone  as  she  comes  in,  and  we  have 
such  delectable  breakfasts  of  crisp  little  rolls 
and  Swiss  honey  and  very  weak  and  hot-milky 
cafS  au  lait.  I  don't  believe  Miss  Winter 
will  let  us  have  honey  every  day,  but  mamma 
does  n't  mind.  I  think  she  gives  orders  for  a 
very  small  dish  of  it,  because  Ada  and  I  have 
requested  more  until  we  are  disheartened. 
Mamma  says  that  while  we  run  up  so  many 
hillsides  here  we  may  eat  what  we  please. 
Oh,  and  one  thing  more :  no  end  of  dry  little 


A   CHAPTER  OF  LETTERS.  107 

mountain  strawberries,  sometimes  they  taste 
like  strawberries  and  sometimes  they  don't; 
but  this  is  enough  about  what  one  eats  in 
Interlaken.  I  have  filled  my  four  pages  and 
Ada  is  calling  me  to  walk.  We  are  going  on 
with  our  botany.  Are  you  ?  I  send  a  better 
edelweiss  which  I  plucked  myself.  I  must  let 
Ada  tell  you  next  time  about  that  day.  She 
is  the  best  at  a  description,  but  I  love  you 
more  than  ever  and  I  am  always  your  fond 
and  faithful  BESSIE  DUNCAN. 

P.  S.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Ada  has  made 
such  clever  sketches.  Papa  says  that  they 
quite  surprise  him,  and  we  just  long  to  show 
them  to  Miss  Winter.  There  is  one  of  a  little 
girl  whom  we  saw  making  lace  at  Lauterbrun^ 
nen.  The  Drummonds  of  Park  Lane  drove 
by  us  yesterday ;  we  could  n't  hear  the  name 
of  their  hotel,  though  they  called  it  out,  but 
we  are  sure  to  find  them.  They  looked,  how* 
ever,  as  if  they  were  on  a  journey,  the  carriage 
was  so  dusty.  It  was  so  nice  to  see  the  girls 
again. 


IX. 

BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS. 

As  Betty  shut  the  gate  behind  her  one  day 
and  walked  down  the  main  street  of  Tides- 
head  she  felt  more  than  ever  as  if  the  past 
four  years  had  been  a  dream,  and  as  if  she 
were  exactly  the  same  girl  who  had  paid  that 
last  visit  when  she  was  eleven  years  old.  Yet 
she  seemed  to  herself  to  have  clearer  eyes 
than  before;  her  years  of  travel  had  taught 
her  to  observe,  the  best  gift  that  traveling  can 
bestow.  She  saw  new  beauties  in  the  gardens 
and  the  queer-shaped  porches  over  the  front 
doors,  and  noticed  particularly  the  cupolas  of 
one  or  two  barns  that  were  clear  and  sharp 
in  their  good  outlines.  More  than  all,  she 
was  astonished  at  the  beauty  of  the  old  trees. 
Tideshead  was  not  a  forest  of  maples,  like 
many  other  New  England  towns,  but  there 
were  oaks  along  the  village  streets,  and  ash- 
trees,  and  willows,  beside  great  elms  in  stately 


BETTYS  REFLECTIONS.  109 

rows,  and  silver  poplars,  and  mountain  ashes, 
and  even  some  fruit-trees  along  the  roadsides 
outside  the  village.  Betty  remembered  a  story 
that  she  had  often  heard  with  great  interest 
about  one  of  the  old  Tideshead  ministers  who 
had  been  much  beloved,  and  whose  influence 
was  still  felt.  Every  year  he  had  brought  ten 
trees  from  the  woods  and  planted  them  either 
on  the  streets  or  in  his  neighbor's  yards;  one 
year  he  chose  one  sort  of  tree  and  the  next  an- 
other, and  at  last,  when  he  grew  older  and  could 
not  go  far  afield  in  his  search  he  asked  his 
friends  for  fruit-trees  and  planted  them  for  the 
benefit  of  wayfarers.  These  had  made  a  delight- 
ful memorial  of  the  good  old  man,  but  many 
of  the  trees  had  fallen  by  this  time,  and  though 
everybody  said  that  they  ought  to  be  replaced, 
and  complained  of  such  shiftless  neglect,  as 
usual  what  was  everybody's  business  was  no- 
body's business,  and  Tideshead  looked  as  if  it 
were  sorry  to  be  forgotten.  Betty  had  been 
used  to  the  thrifty  English  and  French  care  of 
woodlands,  and  felt  as  if  it  were  a  great  pity 
not  to  take  better  care  of  the  precious  legacy. 
Aunt  Barbara  sometimes  sent  Jonathan  and 
Seth  Pond  to  care  for  the  trees  that  needed 


110  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

pruning  or  covering  at  the  roots,  but  hardly 
any  one  else  in  Tideshead  did  anything  but 
chop  them  up  and  clear  them  away  when  they 
blew  down. 

It  seemed  very  strange  that  all  the  old 
houses  were  so  handsome  and  all  the  new  ones 
so  ugly.  A  stranger  might  wonder,  why,  with 
the  good  proportions,  and  even  a  touch  of  sim- 
ple elegance  that  the  house  builders  of  the  last 
century  almost  always  gave,  their  successors 
seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  either,  and  to  take 
no  lessons  from  the  good  models  before  their 
eyes.  "  Makeshifts  o'  splendor,"  sensible  old 
Serena  called  some  of  the  new  houses  which 
had  run  much  to  cheap  decoration  and  irregu- 
lar roofs  and  fancy  colors  of  paint.  But  the 
old  minister's  elms  and  willows  hung  their 
green  boughs  before  some  of  these  architec- 
tural failures  as  if  to  kindly  screen  them  from 
the  passers-by.  They  looked  like  imitations 
of  houses,  one  or  two  of  them,  and  as  if  they 
were  put  down  to  fill  spaces,  and  not  meant 
to  live  in,  as  the  old  plain-roofed  and  wide- 
roomed  dwellings  are.  The  sober  old  village 
looked  here  and  there  as  if  it  were  a  placid 
elderly  lady  upon  whom  a  child  had  put  it's 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  Ill 

own  gay  raiment.  People  do  not  consider  the 
becomingness  of  a  building  to  its  surroundings 
as  they  should,  but  Betty  did  not  make  this 
clear  to  herself  exactly,  though  she  was  sorry 
at  the  change  in  the  familiar  streets.  She 
was  more  delighted  than  she  knew  because  she 
felt  so  complete  a  sense  of  belongingness ;  as 
if  she  were  indeed  made  of  the  very  dust  of 
Tideshead,  and  were  a  part  of  it.  It  was 
much  better  than  getting  used  to  new  places, 
though  even  in  the  dullest  ones  she  had  known 
there  was  some  charm  and  some  attaching 
quality  ever  to  be  remembered.  She  liked 
dearly  to  think  of  some  of  the  places  where 
she  and  papa  had  made  their  home,  but  after 
all  there  was  the  temporary  feeling  about 
every  one.  She  could  bear  transplanting  from 
most  of  them  with  equanimity,  no  matter  how 
deep  her  roots  had  seemed  to  strike. 

After  she  had  posted  her  letters  there  was  a 
question  of  what  to  do  next.  She  had  really 
come  out  for  a  walk,  but  Mary  Beck's  mother 
had  a  dressmaker  that  day  and  Becky  was  not 
at  liberty ;  and  Nelly  Foster  was  busy,  too. 
The  Grants  were  away  for  a  few  days  on  a 
visit ;  it  was  a  lonely  morning  with  our  friend, 


112  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

who  felt  a  hearty  wish  for  one  of  her  usual  com- 
panions. She  strayed  out  toward  the  fields 
and  seated  herself  in  the  shade  of  Becky's 
favorite  tree,  looking  off  toward  the  hills.  The 
country  was  very  green  and  fresh-looking  after 
a  long  rain,  and  the  farmers  were  out  cutting 
the  later  hay  in  the  lower  meadows.  She  could 
hear  the  mowing-machines  like  the  whirr  of 
great  locusts,  and  the  men's  voices  as  they 
shouted  to  each  other  and  the  horses.  On  the 
field  side  of  the  fence,  in  the  field  corner,  she 
and  Becky  had  made  a  comfortable  seat  by 
putting  a  piece  of  board  across  the  angle  of 
the  two  fences,  and  there  was  a  black  cherry- 
tree  thicket  near,  so  that  the  two  girls  could 
not  be  seen  from  the  road  as  they  sat  there. 
As  Betty  perched  herself  here  alone  she  could 
look  along  the  road,  but  not  be  discovered 
easily.  She  wished  for  Becky  more  than  ever 
after  the  first  few  minutes,  but  her  thoughts 
were  very  busy.  She  had  had  a  misunder- 
standing with  both  the  aunts  that  morning, 
and  was  still  moved  by  a  little  pity  for  herself. 
They  had  grown  used  to  their  own  orderly 
habits,  and  it  seemed  to  be  no  trouble  to  them 
to  keep  their  possessions  in  order,  and  Betty 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  113 

had  found  them  standing  before  an  open  bu- 
reau drawer  in  her  room  quite  aghast  with  the 
general  disarray,  and  also  with  the  buttonless 
and  be-ripped  condition  of  different  articles  of 
her  underclothing.  They  had  laughed  good- 
naturedly  and  were  not  so  hard  upon  Betty  as 
they  meant  to  be,  when  they  saw  her  shame- 
stricken  face,  and  Betty  herself  tried  to  laugh. 
She  did  not  mind  Aunt  Barbara's  seeing  the 
things  so  much  as  Aunt  Mary's  aggravating 
assumption  that  it  was  a  perfectly  hopeless 
case,  and  nothing  could  be  done  about  it. 

"Nobody  knows  how  or  where  they  were 
washed,"  Aunt  Barbara  said  in  her  brisk  way ; 
and  though  she  looked  very  stern,  Betty  knew 
that  she  meant  it  partly  for  an  excuse. 

"  You  certainly  ought  to  have  been  looking 
them  over  in  this  rainy  weather,"  complained 
Aunt  Mary.  "  A  young  lady  of  your  age 
is  expected  to  keep  her  clothing  in  exquisite 
order." 

Betty  hated  being  called  a  young  lady  of 
her  age. 

"  I  hope  that  you  take  better  care  of  your 
father's  wardrobe  than  this :  why,  there  is  n't 
a  whole  thing  here,  and  they  are  most  expen- 


114  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

sive  new  things,  one  can  see ;  unmended  and 
spoiled."  Aunt  Mary  held  up  a  pretty  under- 
waist  and  sighed  deeply. 

"  Mrs.  Duncan  chose  them  with  me ;  one 
does  n't  have  to  give  so  much  for  such  things 
in  London,"  explained  Betty  somewhat  hotly. 
"  It  is  no  use  to  pick  out  ugly  things  to  wear." 

"Dear,  dear!  "  said  Aunt  Barbara,  "don't 
fret  about  it,  either  of  you !  We  '11  look  them 
over  by  and  by,  Betty,  and  see  what  can  be 
done ; "  and  she  shut  the  drawer  upon  the  pa- 
thetic relics.  "  You  must  be  ready  to  meet 
your  responsibilities  better  this,"  she  said 
sharply  to  her  niece,  but  Betty  was  already 
hurrying  out  of  the  door.  She  did  not  mind 
Aunt  Barbara,  but  Aunt  Mary  in  the  distress- 
ing silk  wrapper  that  belonged  to  cross  days 
was  too  much  for  one  to  bear.  They  had  no 
business  to  be  looking  over  her  bureau  drawer ; 
then  Betty  was  sorry  for  having  been  so  ill- 
natured  about  it.  Letty  had  told  her,  earlier, 
that  some  of  her  clothes  could  not  be  worn 
again  until  they  were  mended,  and  Aunt  Bar- 
bara had,  no  doubt,  been  consulted  also,  and 
was  wondering  what  was  best  to  be  done. 
Betty's  great  pride  had  been  in  being  able  to 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  115 

take  care  of  papa,  and  she  had  almost  boasted 
of  her  skill,  and  of  her  management  of 
housekeeping  affairs  when  they  were  in  lodg- 
ings. She  was  too  old  now  to  be  treated 
like  a  child,  and  hated  being  what  Serena 
called  "  stood  over." 

Betty's  temper  was  usually  very  good,  and 
such  provocations  could  not  make  her  misera- 
ble very  long.  As  she  sat  under  the  oak-tree 
she  even  laughed  at  the  remembrance  of  Aunt 
Mary's  expression  of  perfect  hopelessness  as 
she  held  up  the  underwaist.  Aunt  Barbara's 
favorite  maxim  that  there  was  "  nothing  so  in- 
convenient as  disorder  "  seemed  to  have  deeper 
reason  and  wisdom  than  ever.  Betty  consid- 
ered the  propriety  of  throwing  away  all  her 
subterfuges  of  pins,  so  that  a  proper  stitch 
must  be  inevitably  taken  when  it  was  needed. 
Pins  in  underclothes  are  not  always  comfort- 
able, but  our  heroine  was  apt  to  be  in  a  hurry, 
and  to  suffer  the  consequences  in  more  ways 
than  one.  She  made  some  brave  resolutions 
now,  and  promised  herself  to  look  over  her 
belongings,  and  to  mend  all  that  could  be 
mended  and  throw  away  the  remainder  rags 
that  very  day  after  dinner.  Betty  was  fond 


116  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

of  making  good  resolutions,  and  it  seeined  to 
help  her  much  about  keeping  them  if  she  wrote 
them  down.  She  had  learned  lately  from 
Aunt  Barbara,  who  complained  of  forgetting 
things  over  night,  to  make  little  lists  of  things 
to  be  done,  and  it  appeared  a  good  deal  easier 
to  mark  off  the  items  on  the  list  one  by  one, 
than  to  carry  them  in  one's  mind  and  wonder 
what  should  be  done  next.  Out  friend  liked 
to  make  notes  about  life  in  general  and  her 
own  responsibilities,  and  had  many  serious 
thoughts  now  that  she  was  growing  older. 

She  made  her  lead  pencil  as  pointed  as  pos- 
sible with  a  knife  newly  sharpened  by  Jona- 
than, and  wrote  at  the  end  of  her  slip  of  pa- 
per, which  had  come  out  much  crumpled  from 
her  pocket :  "  Look  over  my  clothes  and  every 
one  of  my  stockings,  and  put  them  in  as  good 
order  as  possible."  Then  she  smoothed  out 
another  larger  piece  of  paper  on  her  knee  and 
read  it.  One  day  she  had  copied  some  scat- 
tered sentences  from  a  book,  and  prefaced  them 
with  some  things  that  her  father  often  had 
said  :  u  Learn  the  right  way  to  do  things.  Do 
everything  that  you  can  for  yourself.  Try  to 
make  yourself  fit  to  live  with  other  people. 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  117 

Try  to  avoid  making  other  people  wait  upon 
you.  Remember  that  every  person  stands  in 
a  different  place  from  every  other  and  so  sees 
life  from  a  different  point  of  view.  Remem- 
ber that  nobody  likes  to  be  proved  in  the 
wrong,  and  be  careful  in  what  manner  you  say 
things  to  people  that  they  do  not  wish  to  hear." 
Betty  read  slowly  with  great  approval  at 
first,  but  the  end  seemed  disturbing.  "  That 's 
just  what  Aunt  Mary  likes ! "  she  reflected, 
with  suddenly  rising  wrath.  "  She  says  things 
over  twice,  for  fear  I  don't  hear  them  the  first 
time.  I  wish  she  would  let  me  alone !  "  but 
Betty's  conscience  smote  her  at  this  point. 
She  really  was  beginning  to  wish  most  heart- 
ily that  she  were  good,  and  like  every  one  else 
wished  for  the  approval  of  others  as  well  as 
for  the  peace  of  her  own  conscience.  This  was 
a  black-mark  day  when  she  had  neither,  and 
she  thought  about  her  life  more  intently  than 
usual.  When  she  liked  herself  everybody 
liked  her,  but  when  she  was  on  bad  terms 
with  herself  everybody  else  seemed  ready  to 
join  in  the  stern  disapproval.  Papa  was 
always  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand  at  such 
times,  but  papa  was  far  away.  Nothing  was 


118  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

so  pleasant  as  usual  that  morning,  and  a  fog 
of  discouragement  seemed  to  shut  out  all  the 
sunshine  in  Betty  Leicester's  heart.  She  did 
not  often  get  low-spirited,  but  for  that  hour  all 
the  excitement  of  coming  to  Tideshead  and 
being  liked  and  befriended  by  her  old  friends 
had  vanished  and  left  only  a  miserable  hope- 
lessness in  its  place.  The  road  of  life  ap- 
peared to  lead  nowhere,  and  perhaps  our 
friend  missed  the  constant  change  and  excite- 
ment of  interest  brought  to  her  by  living 
alongside  such  a  busy,  inspiriting  life  as  her 
father's.  Here  in  Tideshead  she  had  to  pro- 
vide her  own  motive  power  instead  of  being 
tributary  to  a  stronger  current. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  have  anything  to  do," 
thought  Betty.  "  I  used  to  be  so  busy  all  the 
time  last  spring  in  London  and  never  had  half 
time  enough,  and  now  everything  is  raveling 
out  instead  of  knitting  up.  I  poke  through 
the  days  hoping  something  nice  will  happen, 
just  like  the  Tideshead  girls."  This  thought 
came  with  a  curious  flash  of  self-recognition, 
such  as  rarely  comes,  and  always  is  the  minute 
of  inspiration.  "  I  must  think  and  think  what 
to  do,"  Betty  went  on,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her 


BETTYS  REFLECTIONS.  119 

hand  and  looking  off  at  the  blue  mountains 
far  to  the  northward.  There  was  a  tuft  of 
rudbeckias  in  bloom  near  by,  and  just  then  the 
breeze  made  them  bow  at  her  as  if  they  were 
watching  and  approved  her  serious  thoughts. 
They  had  indeed  a  friendly  and  cheering  look, 
as  if  there  were  still  much  hope  in  life,  and 
Betty  forgot  herself  for  a  minute  as  she  was 
suddenly  conscious  of  their  companionship. 
She  even  gave  the  gay  yellow  flowers  a  friendly 
nod,  and  resolved  to  carry  some  of  them 
home  to  the  aunts.  It  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  make  a  rule  for  devoting  the  first  half  hour 
after  breakfast  to  the  care  of  her  clothes  and 
that  sort  of  thing  :  then  she  could  take  the 
next  hour  for  her  writing.  But  it  was  often 
very  pleasant  to  scurry  down  into  the  gar- 
den or  to  the  yard  for  a  word  with  Jonathan 
or  Seth.  Aunt  Barbara  was  always  busy 
housekeeping  with  Serena  just  after  break- 
fast, and  Betty  was  left  to  herself  for  a 
while ;  it  would  take  stern  principle  to  settle 
at  once  to  the  day's  work,  but  to-morrow  morn- 
ing the  plan  should  be  tried.  Betty  had  of- 
fered, soon  after  she  came,  to  take  care  of  the 
flowers  in  the  house,  to  pick  fresh  ones  or  to 


120  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

put  fresh  water  in  the  vases,  but  she  had  for- 
gotten to  do  it  regularly  of  late,  though  Aunt 
Barbara  had  been  so  pleased  in  the  beginning. 
"  I  ought  to  do  my  part  in  the  house,"  she 
thought,  and  again  the  gay  "  rude  beckies " 
nodded  approval,  and  a  catbird  overhead  said 
a  great  deal  on  the  subject  which  was  difficult 
to  understand  but  very  insistent.  Betty  was 
beginning  to  be  cheerful  again  ;  in  truth,  noth- 
ing gets  a  girl  out  of  a  tangle  of  provocations 
and  bewilderments  and  regrets  like  going  out 
into  the  fields  alone. 

Nobody  had  driven  by  in  all  the  time  that 
Betty  had  sat  in  the  fence  corner  until  now 
there  was  a  noise  of  wheels  in  the  distance. 
It  seemed  suddenly  as  if  the  session  were  over, 
and  Betty,  quite  restored  to  her  usual  serenity, 
said  good-by  to  her  solitary  self  and  the  cheer- 
ful wild-flowers.  "I  am  going  to  be  good, 
papa,"  she  thought  with  a  warm  love  in  her 
hopeful  heart,  as  she  looked  out  through  the 
young  black  cherry-trees  to  see  who  was  going 
by  in  the  road.  "  Seth !  Seth  Pond !  "  she 
called,  "Where  are  you  going?"  for  it  proved 
to  be  that  important  member  of  the  aunts' 
household,  with  the  old  wagon  and  Jimmy,  the 
old  black  horse. 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  121 

"  Goin'  to  mill,"  answered  Seth,  recognizing 
the  voice  and  looking  about  him,  much  pleased. 
"  Want  to  come  ?  be  pleased  to  have  ye,"  and 
Betty  was  over  the  fence  in  a  minute  and  ap- 
peared to  his  view  from  behind  the  thicket. 
I  dare  say  the  flowers  waved  a  farewell  and 
looked  fondly  after  her  as  she  drove  away. 

Seth  was  not  in  the  least  vexed  by  his 
thoughts.  He  was  much  gratified  by  Betty's 
company  and  behaved  with  great  dignity,  giv- 
ing her  much  information  about  the  hay  crop, 
and  how  many  tons  were  likely  to  be  cut  in 
this  field  and  the  next.  They  could  not  drive 
very  fast  because  the  wagon  was  well  loaded 
with  bags  of  corn,  and  so  they  jogged  on  at  an 
even  pace,  though  Seth  flourished  his  whip  a 
good  deal,  striking  sometimes  at  the  old  horse, 
and  sometimes  at  the  bushes  by  the  roadside. 

"  Do  you  expect  I  shall  ever  get  to  be  much 
of  a  hand  to  play  the  violin  ?  "  he  inquired 
with  much  earnestness. 

"I  don't  know,  Seth,"  answered  Betty,  a 
little  distressed  by  the  responsibility  of  answer- 
ing. "  Do  you  mean  to  be  a  musician  and 
do  nothing  else  ?  '' 

"  I  used  to  count  on  it  when  I  was  little," 


122  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

said  Seth  humbly.  "  I  heard  a  fellow  play 
splendid  in  a  show  once,  and  I  just  used  to  lay 
awake  nights  an'  be  good  for  nothin'  days, 
wonderin'  how  I  could  learn ;  but  I  can  play 
now  'bout 's  good  's  he  could,  I  s'pose,  an'  it 
don't  seem  to  be  nothin'.  Them  tunes  in  the 
book  you  give  me  let  in  some  light  on  me 
as  to  what  playin'  was.  I  mean  them  tough 
ones  over  in  the  back  part." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  have  to  go  away  and 
study ;  teachers  cost  a  great  deal.  That  is, 
the  best  ones  do." 

"  They  're  wuth  it ;  I  don't  grudge  'em  the 
best  they  get,"  said  Seth,  honorably.  "  I  Ve 
got  to  think  o'  marm,  you  see,  up-country.  She 
could  n't  get  along  nohow  without  my  wages 
comin'  in.  You  see  I  send  her  the  most  part. 
I  ain't  to  no  expense  myself  while  I  live  there 
to  Miss  Leicester's.  If  there  was  only  me  I  'd 
fetch  it  to  live  somehow  up  in  somebody's 
garret,  and  go  to  one  o'  them  crack  teachers 
after  I  'd  saved  up  consid'able.  Then  I  'd  go 
to  work  again'  an'  practice  them  lessons  till  I 
earnt  some  more.  But  I  ain't  never  goin' 
to  pinch  marm ;  she  worked  an'  slaved  an' 
picked  huckleberries  and  went  out  nussin'  and 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  123 

tailorin'  an'  any  work  she  could  git,  slick  or 
rough,  an'  give  me  everything  she  could  till 
I  got  a  little  schoolin'  together  and  was  big 
enough  to  work.  She  's  kind  o'  slim  now ;  I 
think  she  worked  too  hard.  I  was  awful 
homesick  when  I  was  first  to  your  aunts',  but 
Jonathan  he  used  me  real  good.  He  come 
there  a  boy  from  up  to  our  place  just  the  same, 
an'  used  to  know  marm.  Miss  Leicester  she 
lets  me  go  up  and  spend  Sunday  consid'able 
often.  Marm  's  all  alone  except  what  use  she 
gets  of  the  neighbors  comin'  in.  But  seems 
if  I  'd  lived  for  nothin',  if  I  can't  learn  to 
play  a  fiddle  better  than  I  can  now,"  and  Seth 
struck  hard  with  his  whip  at  an  unoffending 
thistle. 

"  Then  you  're  sure  to  do  it,"  said  Betty. 
"  I  believe  you  must  learn,  Seth.  Where  there 's 
a  will  there  's  a  way.'' 

"  Why,  that 's  just  what  Sereny  says,"  ex- 
claimed Seth  with  surprise.  "  Well,  they  say 
't  was  the  little  dog  that  kep'  runnin'  that  got 
there  Saturday  night." 

"  Should  you  play  in  concerts,  do  you  sup- 
pose ? "  asked  Betty,  with  reverence  for  such 
overpowering  ambition  in  the  rough  lad. 


124  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  You  bet,  an'  travel  with  shows  an'  things,*1 
responded  Seth.  "  But  if  I  kep'  to  work  on 
something'  else  that  give  mother  an'  me  a  good 
livin',  I  'd  like  to  be  the  one  they  sent  for  all 
round  this  part  of  the  country  when  they 
wanted  first-rate  play  in' ;  an'  I  'd  be  ready,  you 
know,  and  just  make  the  old  fiddle  squeak 
lovely  for  dancin'  or  set  pieces  for  weddings 
an'  any  occasions  that  might  rise.  I  'd  like 
to  be  the  player,  an'  I  tell  ye  I  'm  goin'  to  be 
'fore  I  die.  Marm  she  knows  I  can,  but  one 
spell  she  used  to  expect  't  would  draw  me  into 
bad  company." 

"  Oh  you  would  n't  let  it,  I  'm  sure,  Seth," 
agreed  Betty,  with  pleasing  confidence.  "I 
like  to  hear  you  play  now,"  she  said.  "I 
wish  we  could  get  you  a  teacher.  Perhaps 
papa  can  tell  you,  and  —  well,  we  '11  see." 

"I  'd  just  like  to  have  you  see  marm,"  said 
Seth  shyly  as  they  drove  to  the  mill  door. 
"  She  'd  like  you  an'  you  'd  like  her.  I  don't 
suppose  your  aunts  would  let  you  go  up-coun- 
try, would  they  ?  It 's  pretty  up  there  ;  moun- 
tains, an'  cleared  pastur's  way  up  their  sides 
higher  'n  you  'd  git  in  an  afternoon.  You  can 
see  way  down  here  right  from  our  house, '  he 


BETTYS  REFLECTIONS.  125 

whispered,  as   they   stopped   before   the   mill 
door. 

Betty  thought  it  was  very  pleasant  in  the  old 
mill.  While  Seth  and  the  miller  were  trans- 
acting their  business,  she  went  to  one  of  the 
little  windows  on  the  side  next  the  swift  rush- 
ing mill-stream  and  looked  out  awhile,  and 
watched  some  swallows  and  the  clear  water 
and  the  house  on  the  other  side  where  the 
miller  lived.  Then  she  was  shown  how  the 
corn  was  ground  and  tasted  the  hot  meal  as 
it  came  sifting  down  from  the  little  boxes  on 
the  band,  and  the  miller  even  had  the  big 
wheel  stopped  in  its  dripping  dark  closet 
where  it  seemed  to  labor  hard  to  keep  the 
mill  going.  "  Something  works  hard  for  us 
in  our  lives  to  make  them  all  come  right," 
she  thought  with  wistful  gratitude,  and  looked 
with  new  interest  at  the  busy  maze  of  wheels 
and  hoppers  and  rude  machinery  that  joggled 
on  steadily  from  the  touch  of  the  hidden  wheel 
and  the  plash  of  its  live  water.  She  wandered 
out  into  the  sunshine  and  down  the  river  side 
a  little  way.  There  was  a  clean  yellow  sandy 
bottom  in  one  place  with  shoals  of  frisky  little 
minnows  and  a  small  green  island  only  a  little 


126  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

way  out,  and  Betty  was  much  tempted  to  take 
off  her  shoes  and  stockings  and  wade  across. 
Her  toes  curled  themselves  in  their  shoes  with 
pleased  anticipation,  but  she  thought  with  a 
sigh  that  she  was  too  tall  to  go  wading  now, 
that  is,  near  a  public  place  like  the  mill.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  give  a  heavy  sigh  over 
such  lost  delights.  Then  she  looked  up  at  the 
mill  and  discovered  that  there  were  only  one 
or  two  high  and  dusty  windows  at  that  end, 
and  down  she  sat  on  the  short  green  turf  to 
pull  off  the  shoes  and  stockings  as  fast  as 
she  could,  lest  second  thoughts  might  again 
hinder  this  last  wade.  She  gathered  her 
petticoats  and  over  to  the  island  she  splashed, 
causing  awful  apprehension  of  disaster  among 
the  minnows. 

The  green  island  was  a  delightful  place 
indeed ;  the  upper  end  was  near  the  roaring 
dam,  and  the  water  plashed  and  dashed  as  it 
ran  away  on  either  side.  There  were  two  or 
three  young  elms  and  some  alders  on  the 
island,  and  the  alders  were  full  of  clematis  just 
coming  into  bloom.  The  lower  end  of  this 
strip  of  island  -  ground  was  much  less  noisy, 
and  Betty  went  down  to  sit  there  after  she  had 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  127 

seen  two  or  three  turtles  slide  into  the  water, 
and  more  minnows  slip  away  into  deeper  pools 
out  of  sight.  There  was  a  pleasant  damp  smell 
of  cool  water,  and  a  ripple  of  light  went  dan- 
cing up  the  high  stone  foundation  of  the  old 
mill.  Betty  could  still  hear  the  great  wet  wheel 
lumbering  round.  She  thought  that  she  never 
had  found  a  more  delightful  place,  so  much 
business  was  going  on  all  about  her  and  yet  it 
was  so  quiet  there,  and  as  she  looked  under  a 
young  alder  what  should  she  see  but  a  wild 
duck  on  its  nest.  Even  if  the  shy  thing  had 
fluttered  off  at  her  approach,  it  had  gone  back 
again,  and  now  watched  her  steadily  as  if  to 
be  ready  to  fly,  yet  not  really  frightened.  It 
was  a  dear  kind  of  relationship  to  be  in  this 
wild  little  place  with  another  living  creature, 
and  Betty  settled  herself  on  the  soft  turf, 
against  the  straight  young  elm  trunk,  deter- 
mined not  to  give  another  glance  in  the  duck's 
direction.  It  would  be  great  fun  to  come  and 
see  it  go  away  with  its  ducklings  when  they 
were  hatched,  if  one  only  knew  the  proper 
minute.  She  wished  that  she  could  paint  a 
picture  of  the  mill  and  the  river,  or  could  write 
a  song  about  it,  even  if  she  could  not  sing  it, 


128  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

so  many  girls  had  such  gifts  and  did  not  care 
half  so  much  for  them  as  Betty  herself  would. 
Dear  Betty !  she  did  not  know  what  a  rare 
gift  she  had  in  being  able  to  enjoy  so  many 
things,  and  to  understand  the  pictures  and 
songs  of  every  day. 

Then  it  was  time  to  wade  back  to  shore,  and 
so  she  rose  and  left  the  duck  to  her  peaceful 
seclusion,  not  knowing  how  often  she  would 
think  of  this  pretty  place  in  years  to  come. 
The  best  thing  about  such  pleasures  is  that 
they  seem  more  and  more  delightful,  as  years 
go  on.  Seth  was  just  coming  to  tell  Betty  that 
the  meal  was  all  ground  and  ready  when  she 
appeared  discreetly  from  behind  the  willows 
that  grew  at  the  mill  end,  and  so  they  drove 
home  without  anything  exciting  to  mark  the 
way. 

Betty  had  taken  many  music  lessons,  but 
she  was  by  no  means  a  musician,  and  seldom 
played  for  the  pleasure  of  it.  For  some  reason, 
after  tea  was  over  that  evening  she  opened 
Aunt  Barbara's  piano  and  began  to  play  a 
gay  military  march  which  she  had  toilsomely 
learned  from  one  of  the  familiar  English 
operas.  She  played  it  once  or  twice,  and 


BETTYS  REFLECTIONS.  129 

played  it  very  well ;  in  fact,  an  old  gentleman 
who  was  going  slowly  along  the  street  stopped 
and  leaned  on  the  fence  to  listen.  He  had 
been  a  captain  in  the  militia  in  the  days  of  the 
old  New  England  trainings,  and  now  though 
he  walked  with  two  canes  and  was  quite  de- 
crepit, he  liked  to  be  reminded  of  his  mili- 
tary service,  and  the  march  gave  him  a  great 
pleasure  and  made  him  young  again  while  he 
stood  there  beating  time  on  the  front  fence, 
and  nodding  his  head.  One  may  often  give 
pleasure  without  knowing  it,  if  one  does  pleas- 
ant things. 

Next  morning,  early  after  breakfast,  Betty 
appeared  at  Miss  Mary  Leicester's  door  with 
an  armful  of  mending.  Aunt  Mary  waked  up 
early  and  had  her  breakfast  in  bed,  and  liked 
very  much  to  be  called  upon  afterward  and  to 
hear  something  pleasant.  One  of  the  win- 
dows of  her  room  looked  down  into  the  gar- 
den and  it  was  cool  and  shady  there  at  this 
time  of  the  day,  so  Betty  seated  herself  with 
a  dutiful  and  sober  feeling  not  unmixed  with 
enjoyment. 

"  I  have  thought  ever  since  yesterday  that 
1  was  too  severe,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Mary 


130  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

somewhat  wistfully  from  her  three  pillows. 
"  But  you  see,  Betty,  I  am  so  conscious  of  the 
mistakes  of  my  own  life  that  I  wish  to  help  you 
to  avoid  them.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  become 
dependent  upon  other  people,  —  especially  if 
they  are  busy  people,"  she  added  plaintively. 

"  Oh,  I  ought  to  have  managed  everything 
better,"  responded  Betty,  looking  at  the  ends 
of  two  fingers  that  had  poked  directly  through 
a  stocking  toe.  "  I  don't  mean  to  let  things 
get  so  bad  again.  I  never  do  when  I  am  with 
papa,  because  —  I  know  better.  But  it  has 
been  such  fun  to  play  since  I  came  to  Tides- 
head  !  I  don't  feel  a  bit  grown  up  here." 

Aunt  Mary  looked  at  little  Betty  with  an 
affectionate  smile. 

"  I  think  fifteen  is  such  a  funny  age,"  Betty 
went  on;  "you  seem  to  just  perch  there  be- 
tween being  a  little  girl  and  a  young  lady, 
and  first  you  think  you  are  one  and  then  you 
think  you  are  the  other.  I  feel  like  a  bird  on 
a  bough,  or  as  if  I  were  living  in  a  railway  sta- 
tion, waiting  for  a  train  to  come  in  before  I 
could  do  anything." 

Betty  said  this  gravely,  and  then  felt  a  little 
shy  and  self-conscious.  Aunt  Mary  watched 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  131 

her  as  she  sat  by  the  window  sewing,  and  was 
wise  enough  not  to  answer,  but  she  could  not 
help  thinking  that  Betty  was  a  dear  girl.  It 
was  one  of  Aunt  Mary's  very  best  days,  and 
there  were  some  things  one  could  say  more 
easily  to  her  than  to  Aunt  Barbara,  though 
Aunt  Barbara  was  what  Betty  was  pleased  to 
irreverently  call  her  pal. 

"  I  do  wish  that  I  had  a  talent  for  some- 
thing," said  Betty.  "  I  can't  sing ;  if  I  could, 
I  am  sure  that  I  would  sing  for  everybody 
who  asked  me.  I  don't  see  what  makes  peo- 
ple so  silly  about  it ;  hear  that  old  robin 
now !  "  and  they  both  laughed.  "  Nobody 
asks  me  to  play  who  knows  anything  about 
music.  I  wish  I  had  Aunt  Barbara's  fingers ; 
I  don't  believe  I  can  ever  learn.  I  told  papa 
it  was  just  throwing  money  away,  and  he  said 
it  was  good  to  know  how  to  play  even  a  little, 
and  good  for  my  hands,  to  make  them  quick 
and  clever." 

"You  played  that  march  very  well  last 
night,"  said  Aunt  Mary  kindly. 

"  Oh,  that  sort  of  thing !  But  I  mean  other 
music,  the  hard  things  that  papa  likes.  There 
is  one  of  the  Chopin  nocturnes  that  Mrs.  Dun- 


132  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

can  plays,  oh,  it  is  so  beautiful !  I  wish  you 
and  Aunt  Barbara  knew  it." 

"  You  must  ask  Aunt  Barbara  to  practice  it. 
I  like  to  have  her  keep  on  playing.  We  used 
to  hear  a  great  deal  of  music  when  I  was  well 
enough  to  go  to  Boston  in  the  winter,  years 
ago,"  and  Aunt  Mary  sighed.  "  I  think  it  is 
a  great  thing  to  have  a  gift  for  home  life,  as 
you  really  have,  Betty  dear." 

"  Papa  and  I  have  been  in  such  queer  holes," 
laughed  Betty.  "Mrs.  Duncan  and  some  of 
our  friends  are  never  tired  of  hearing  about 
them.  But  you  know  we  always  try  to  do  the 
same  things.  If  I  hadn't  any  other  teacher 
when  we  were  just  flying  about,  papa  always 
heard  my  lessons  and  made  me  keep  lesson 
hours ;  and  he  goes  on  with  his  affairs  and 
we  are  quite  orderly,  indeed  we  are,  so  it 
does  n't  make  much  difference  where  we  hap- 
pen to  be.  Then  I  have  been  whole  winters 
in  London,  and  Mrs.  Duncan  looks  after  us 
a  good  deal." 

"Mary  Duncan  is  a  wise  and  charming 
woman,"  said  Aunt  Mary. 

"All  the  big  Duncans  are  so  nice  to  the 
little  ones ! "  said  Betty ;  "  but  papa  and  I 


BETTY'S  REFLECTIONS.  133 

can  be  old  or  young  just  as  we  choose,  and  we 
try  to  make  up  for  not  being  a  large  family," 
which  seemed  to  amuse  both  Aunt  Mary  and 
Letty,  who  had  just  come  in. 

The  hour  soon  slipped  by  and  Betty's  needle 
had  done  great  execution,  but  a  little  heap  was 
laid  aside  for  the  rag-bag  as  too  hopeless  a 
wreck  for  any  mending.  It  was  plain  that  too 
much  trust  had  been  reposed  in  strange  wash- 
erwomen, for  one  could  put  a  finger  through 
the  underwaists  anywhere,  such  damaging  soap 
had  evidently  been  used  to  make  them  clean. 
Betty  had  heard  that  paper  clothes  were  com- 
ing into  fashion  from  Japan,  and  informed  her 
aunt  of  this  probable  change  for  the  better 
with  great  glee.  Then  she  went  away  to  the 
garden  to  cut  some  flowers  for  the  house,  and 
found  Aunt  Barbara  there  before  her,  tying  up 
the  hollyhock  stalks  to  some  stakes  that  Seth 
Pond  was  driving  down.  Aunt  Barbara  had  a 
shallow  basket  and  was  going  to  cut  the  sweet- 
clover  flowers  that  morning,  to  dry  and  put 
on  her  linen  shelves  along  with  some  sprigs  of 
lavender,  and  this  pleasant  employment  took 
another  half  hour. 

"  Aunt  Mary  was  so  dear  this  morning ! " 


134  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

said  Betty,  as  they  stood  on  opposite  sides  of  a 
tall  sweet-clover  top. 

"  She  feels  pretty  well,  then,"  answered  Miss 
Leicester,  much  pleased. 

"  Yes,"  said  Betty,  snipping  away  industri- 
ously ;  "  she  did  n't  wish  to  be  pitied  one  bit. 
Don't  you  think  we  could  give  her  some  chlo- 
roform, Aunt  Bab,  and  put  her  on  the  steamer 
and  take  her  to  England  ?  She  would  get  so 
excited  and  have  such  a  good  time  and  be 
well  forever  after." 

"I  really  have  thought  so,"  acknowledged 
Aunt  Barbara,  smiling  at  Betty's  audacity. 
But  your  Aunt  Mary  has  suffered  many 
things,  and  has  lost  her  motive  power.  She 
cannot  rouse  herself  when  she  wishes  to,  now- 
adays, but  must  take  life  as  it  comes.  I  can 
see  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  yield  years  ago  to 
her  nervous  illness,  but  I  was  not  so  wise  then, 
and  now  it  is  too  late.  You  know,  Betty,  she 
had  a  great  sorrow,  and  has  never  been  the 
same  person  since." 

"So  had  papa  when  mamma  died,"  said 
Betty  gravely,  and  trying  hard  to  understand ; 
"  but  he  cured  himself  by  just  living  for  other 
people,  and  thinking  whether  they  were  happy." 


BETTYS  REFLECTIONS.  135 

"  It  is  the  only  way,  dear,"  said  Aunt  Bar- 
bara, "  but  when  you  are  older  you  will  know 
better  how  it  has  been  with  my  poor  sister." 

Betty  said  no  more,  but  she  had  many 
thoughts.  Something  that  had  been  said 
about  losing  one's  motive  power  had  struck 
very  deep.  She  had  said  something  herself 
about  waiting  for  her  train  in  the  station,  and 
she  had  a  sudden  vision  of  the  aimlessness 
of  it,  and  of  even  the  train  bills  and  adver- 
tisements on  the  wall.  She  was  eager,  as  all 
girls  are,  for  one  single  controlling  fate  or  for- 
tune to  call  out  all  her  growing  energies,  but 
she  was  aware  at  this  moment  that  she  her- 
self must  choose  and  provide ;  she  must  learn 
to  throw  herself  heartily  into  her  life  just  as 
it  was.  It  was  a  moment  of  clear  vision  to 
Betty  Leicester,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  with 
bright  color.  It  wasn't  the  thing  one  had 
to  do,  but  the  way  one  learned  to  do  it,  that 
distinguished  one's  life.  Perhaps  she  could  be 
famous  for  every-day  homely  things  and  have 
a  real  genius  for  something  so  simple  that 
nobody  else  had  thought  of  it.  That  night 
when  Betty  said  her  prayers  one  new  thing 
came  into  her  mind  to  be  asked  for,  and  was 


136  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

a  great  help,  so  that  she  often  remembered  it 
afterward.  "  Help  me  to  have  a  good  time 
doing  every-day  things,  and  to  make  my  work 
my  pleasure." 


X. 

UP-COUNTRY. 

AUNT  BARBARA  and  Betty  had  finished 
their  breakfast  in  the  cool  breakfast-room,  or 
little  dining-room  as  it  was  sometimes  called  by 
the  family.  This  looked  out  on  the  short  elm- 
shaded  *grass  of  the  side  yard,  but  it  was  apt 
to  get  too  warm  later  in  the  day.  The  dining- 
room  was  much  larger,  and  had  most  of  the 
family  portraits  in  it  and  a  ponderous  side- 
board and  side  tables,  and  Betty  sometimes 
thought  that  a  good  deal  of  machinery  had  to 
be  set  running  there  to  give  a  quiet  dinner  or 
supper  just  to  Aunt  Barbara  and  herself.  But 
the  little  dining-room  was  very  cosy,  with  a 
small  sideboard  and  a  tall  clock  and  an  old 
looking-glass  and  very  old-fashioned  slender 
wooden  armchairs.  The  sun  came  dancing 
in  through  the  leaves  at  a  square  window. 
The  breakfast-room  was  nearer  the  kitchen, 
and  Serena  had  a  sociable  custom  of  appear- 


138  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

ing  now  and  then  to  ask  Miss  Leicester  about 
the  housekeeping. 

"  There  now,  Miss  Barb'ra,"  she  exclaimed, 
putting  her  head  in  at  the  door,  while  Betty 
and  her  aunt  still  lingered.  "  You  excuse  me 
this  time,  but  here  's  Jonathan  considers  it 
best  to  go  off  up-country  looking  for  winter's 
wood,  of  all  things !  I  told  him  I  'd  like  to 
ride  up  long  of  him  to  see  sister  Sarah  when 
he  went,  but  I  never  expected  he  'd  select  the 
very  day  I  set  two  weeks  ago  for  us  to  pick  the 
currants." 

"  But  one  day  will  make  very  little  differ- 
ence ;  I  thought  yesterday  when  you  spoke 
of  them  that  they  needed  a  little  more  sun," 
said  Miss  Leicester  persuasively. 

"  'T  will  bring  the  jelly  right  into  the  last  o' 
the  week  when  there  's  enough  to  do  any 
way."  One  would  have  thought  that  Serena 
was  being  forced  into  unpleasant  duty,  but 
this  was  her  way  of  beginning  a  day's  pleasure, 
and  Miss  Leicester  had  been  familiar  with  it 
for  many  years. 

"  He 's  goin'  right  off ;  puttin'  the  bosses 
in  now ;  never  gives  nobody  a  moment  to 
consider,"  grumbled  Serena,  but  Miss  Leices- 


UP-COUNTRY.  139 

ter  laughed  and  bade  the  good  soul  hurry 
and  get  herself  ready.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done  that  day  that  Letty  could  not  man- 
age, or  Letty's  sister  would  come  over  in  the 
afternoon,  or  Mrs.  Grimshaw,  the  extra  helper 
who  was  frequently  on  hand.  "  I  think  Jona- 
than is  wise  not  to  give  you  any  more  time  to 
think  about  it.  There  's  no  use  in  scouring 
the  whole  house  outside  and  in  before  you  take 
a  day's  pleasure,"  she  suggested  cheerfully. 

"  I  like  to  have  my  mind  at  rest,"  responded 
Serena,  but  still  there  was  something  unsaid. 
Betty's  eyes  were  eager,  but  she  considerately 
waited  for  Serena  to  speak  first.  "  You  see, 
Miss  Barb'ra,  Jonathan  's  got  to  take  up  the 
rag-bags,  't  is  most  a  year  since  I  got  'em  up 
to  sister  Sarah's  before,  and  they  're  in  the 
way  here,  we  all  know,  and  I  've  got  some 
bundles  beside,  and  I  told  Seth  Pond  to  run 
out  an'  pick  a  mess  o'  snap  beans.  Sister 
Sarah's  piece  is  very  late  land  and  I  s'pose  she 
won't  have  any  ;  and  Jonathan  he  knows  when 
I  start  I  fill  up  more  than  the  little  wagon ; 
so  he  's  got  the  big  one,  and  that  makes  empty 
seats,  an'  Miss  Betty  was  saying  that  when  I 
was  goin'  up  again  "  — • 


140  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  You  are  base  conspirators,  both  of  you," 
said  Aunt  Barbara,  much  amused.  "  It  is 
a  delightful  day  ;  the  weather  could  n't  be 
better.  Now  hurry,  Betty,  and  don't  keep 
Serena  waiting." 

"  If  it 's  so  that  you  really  want  to  go,  Miss 
Betty." 

"  I  do,  indeed,  Miss  Serena,"  responded  Betty 
with  great  spirit,  and  off  she  ran  up-stairs, 
while  her  aunt  hurried  to  find  something  to 
send  by  way  of  remembrance,  not  only  to 
Serena's  sister  Sarah,  but  to  Seth's  mother, 
who  lived  two  miles  this  side. 

There  was  great  excitement  for  the  next 
half  hour.  Everybody  behaved  as  if  there 
were  danger  of  missing  a  train,  and  Seth  and 
Letty  were  sent  this  way  and  that,  and  Serena 
gave  as  many  last  charges  as  if  she  meant  to 
be  absent  a  fortnight,  while  Jonathan,  already 
in  the  wagon,  grumbled  at  the  delay  and 
shouted  to  the  horses  if  they  so  much  as  lifted 
a  foot  at  a  fly.  When  they  had  fairly  started 
he  gave  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction  and  said  that 
he  did  n't  expect  when  he  was  harnessing  to 
get  off  until  much  as  an  hour  later,  whereat 
Serena  with  unwonted  levity  called  him  a  "  de- 


UP-COUNTRY.  141 

ceivin'  old  sarpent."  The  wind  was  blowing 
gently  from  the  north,  and  was  cool  enough 
to  make  one  comfortable  in  a  jacket,  though 
Betty  could  not  be  persuaded  that  hers  was 
needed.  Serena's  shawl  was  pinned  neatly 
about  her  shoulders.  She  sat  alone  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  wagon,  for  Jonathan  had  said 
that  it  would  ride  better  not  to  be  too  heavy 
behind  and  therefore  Betty  was  keeping  him 
company  in  front,  of  which  scheme  Serena  had 
her  own  secret  opinion.  The  piece-bags  took 
up  a  large  part  of  the  spare  seat.  Sister  Sarah 
was  lame  and  took  great  joy  in  working  the 
waste  material  of  the  Leicester  house  into  rugs 
and  rag  carpets,  and  it  was  one  of  Serena's  joys 
to  fill  the  round  piece-bags  even  to  bursting. 

Then  there  were  the  beans,  and  the  bundles 
large  and  small,  and  Betty  was  in  charge  of 
a  package  of  newspapers  and  magazines  and 
patent  medicine  almanacs  and  interesting  cir- 
culars of  all  sorts  which  Seth  had  been  saving 
for  his  mother. 

Jonathan  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  shrewd, 
clean-shaven  face.  He  wore  a  new  straw  hat 
that  day,  with  a  faded  linen  coat,  and  a  much 
washed-out  plaid  gingham  cravat  under  his 


142  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

shirt  collar.  The  best  hat  was  worn  on  Bet- 
ty's account,  and  was  evidently  a  little  stiff 
and  uncomfortable,  for  he  took  it  off  once  or 
twice  and  looked  into  the  crown  soberly  and 
then  put  it  on  again. 

"  Sorry  you  wore  it,  I  s'pose  ?  "  observed 
Serena  on  one  of  these  occasions. 

"  Got  to  wear  it  some  time,"  answered 
Jonathan  gruffly,  so  that  nobody  thought  best 
to  speak  of  the  hat  again  even  when  a  sudden 
puff  of  wind  blew  it  over  into  a  field.  Betty 
had  been  ready  to  put  on  one  of  her  old 
play-gowns,  as  she  still  called  them,  but  upon 
reflection  decided  that  it  would  be  hardly  re- 
spectful when  she  had  been  invited  to  go  visit- 
ing with  such  kind  and  proper  friends,  and 
indeed  Serena  had  given  her  a  hasty  and  com- 
placent glance  from  head  to  foot  when  she 
came  down  dressed  in  one  of  the  prettiest  of 
the  London  ginghams.  Mrs.  Duncan,  Betty's 
kind  friend  and  adviser,  had  been  sure  that 
these  ginghams  would  all  four  be  needed  to 
clothe  our  heroine  comfortably  through  the 
summer,  that  is  to  judge  from  experience  in 
other  summers  ;  but  it  made  a  difference  in  the 
stress  put  upon  ginghams,  to  be  a  year  older. 


UP-COUNTRY.  143 

The  up-country  road  wound  first  among 
farms  and  within  sight  of  the  river,  then  it 
took  a  sudden  northward  turn  and  there  were 
not  so  many  white  elder  flowers  by  the  way  as 
there  were  junipers  and  young  birches.  There 
were  long  reaches  through  the  cool  woods,  and 
the  road  was  always  rising  to  a  higher  part  of 
the  country,  veritable  up-country,  among  the 
hills.  From  one  high  point  where  they  stopped 
to  let  the  horses  rest  a  minute  there  was  a 
beautiful  view  of  the  low  lands  that  lay  to- 
ward the  sea,  and  the  river  which  ran  south- 
ward in  shining  lines.  It  would  be  hard  to 
say  who  most  enjoyed  the  morning.  The  elder 
members  of  the  party  seldom  felt  themselves 
free  for  a  holiday,  and  Betty  was  always  ready 
to  enjoy  whatever  came  in  her  way ;  but  there 
was  a  delicious  novelty  in  being  asked  to 
spend  a  day  with  Serena  and  Jonathan.  They 
were  hostess  and  host,  and  Betty  felt  an  un- 
usual spirit  of  deference  and  gratitude  toward 
them ;  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  both  quite 
conscious  of  a  different  relationship  toward 
Betty  from  that  at  home.  It  was  wonderful 
to  see  what  cordial  greetings  most  of  the  peo- 
ple gave  them  along  the  road,  and  how  many 


144  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

warm  friends  they  seemed  to  possess.  The 
farther  they  went,  the  more  struck  by  this  was 
our  Betty,  who  gave  a  little  sigh  at  some  un- 
worded  thought  about  always  being  a  new- 
comer and  stranger.  She  had  begun  to  feel  so 
recognized  and  at  home  in  Tideshead  that  it 
was  a  little  hard  now  to  find  herself  unknown 
again. 

But  Serena  liked  to  tell  her  who  every  one 
was,  and  there  was  as  much  friendly  interest 
shown  in  Miss  Betty  Leicester  as  any  heart 
could  wish. 

They  had  gone  almost  fourteen  miles,  and 
Betty  was  just  nearing  the  end  of  a  long  de- 
scription of  her  experiences  at  the  Queen's 
Jubilee,  when  Jonathan  said  :  "  Now  you  can 
rec'lect  just  where  you  put  the  mark  in.  I 
don't  calc'late  k>  lose  none  of  it,  but  here 
we  've  got  to  stop  top  of  the  hill  an'  see  Seth's 
folks.  You  've  got  them  papers  an'  things 
handy,  ain't  you,  Serena  ?  " 

Betty  saw  a  yellow  story-and-a-half  house 
by  the  roadside  with  some  queer  little  sheds 
and  outbuildings,  and  looked  with  great  in- 
terest to  see  if  any  one  came  to  the  window. 
"  Seth's  folks  "  meant  nobody  but  his  mother, 


UP-COUNTRY.  145 

who  lived  alone  as  Betty  knew,  and  there  she 
was  standing  in  the  door,  a  kind-faced,  round- 
shouldered  little  creature,  who  had  the  patient, 
half  -  apprehensive  look  of  those  women  who 
live  alone  in  lonely  places.  She  threw  her  big 
clean  gingham  apron  over  her  head  and  came 
forward  just  as  Jonathan  had  got  out  of  the 
wagon  and  Betty  followed  him. 

"  There,  bless  ye  !  "  said  "  Seth's  folks." 
"  I  waked  up  this  morning  kind  of  expecting 
that  I  should  see  somebody  from  down  Seth's 
way.  I  expect  he  's  well 's  common  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  responded  Jonathan.  "  We  had 
to  leave  him  to  keep  house.  He  was  full  o' 
messages,  but  I  can't  seem  to  remember  none 
on  'em  now." 

"  No  matter,  so  long  I  know  's  he 's  well," 
said  the  little  woman,  shaking  hands  with 
Betty  and  looking  at  her  delightedly.  "  Now 
I  want  you  all  to  come  in  and  stop  to  dinner," 
but  Serena  could  not  even  be  persuaded  to 
"  'light  down  "  on  account  of  her  duty  to  sister 
Sarah.  Betty  carried  in  the  armful  of  read- 
ing matter  and  Mrs.  Pond  followed  her,  and 
while  our  friend  looked  at  the  plain  little 
house  and  fancied  Seth  practicing  his  tunes, 


146  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

and  saw  the  beautiful  cone  frame  which  he 
had  helped  his  mother  to  make,  the  hospitable 
little  mother  was  getting  some  home-made 
root-beer  out  of  a  big  stone  jug,  and  soon  served 
it  to  her  three  guests  in  pretty  old-fashioned 
blue  and  white  mugs.  Betty  thought  she  had 
never  tasted  anything  so  delicious  as  the  flavor 
of  spice  and  pleasing  bitterness  in  the  cold 
drink,  and  Jonathan  smacked  his  lips  loudly 
and  promised  to  call  for  more  as  he  came 
back.  Mrs.  Pond  took  another  good  long 
look  at  Betty  before  they  parted.  "  I  was  n't 
expectin'  you  to  be  so  much  of  a  young  lady. 
I  do'  know  's  you  be  quite  growed  up  yet, 
though,"  she  said.  This  was  not  the  least  of 
the  pleasures  of  that  day,  and  they  went  on 
next  to  sister  Sarah's,  where  Betty  and  Serena 
and  the  freight  were  to  be  left  while  Jonathan 
went  off  about  his  business. 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  up-country  existed 
for  the  sake  of  its  market  town  of  Tideshead. 
Betty  had  been  there  once  or  twice  in  her  child- 
hood, but  her  memories  even  of  sister  Sarah 
were  rather  indistinct.  She  had  taken  a  long 
nap  once  on  the  patchwork  quilt  in  the  bed- 
room, and  had  waked  to  find  four  or  five 


UP-COUNTRY.  147 

women  hooking  a  large  rug  in  the  kitchen,  all 
talking  together,  which  had  made  an  impres- 
sion upon  her  young  mind.  It  was  strawberry- 
time  too  on  that  last  visit.  But  sister  Sarah 
remembered  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than 
this,  and  was  delighted  to  see  Betty  once  more. 
There  was  the  very  rug  on  the  floor,  already 
beginning  to  look  worn.  One  could  remem- 
ber it  by  a  white,  or  rather  a  gray,  rabbit 
under  some  large  green  leaves  which  made 
part  of  the  design.  It  was  impossible  to  say 
how  many  rugs  there  were  in  the  house,  as 
if  life  went  on  for  the  sole  purpose  of  mak- 
ing hooked  and  braided  rugs.  Those  in  the 
kitchen  at  Aunt  Barbara's  were  evidently  the 
work  of  sister  Sarah's  industrious  fingers. 
Serena  might  have  left  the  place  of  her  birth 
the  week  before  instead  of  nearly  forty  years, 
if  one  might  judge  by  the  manner  in  which  she 
hung  her  bonnet  and  shawl  on  a  nail  behind 
the  door  and  put  her  gray  thread  gloves  into 
the  table  drawer. 

Sister  Sarah  looked  like  a  neat  little  nun, 
and  limped  painfully  as  she  went  about  the 
*oom.  Sometimes  she  used  a  crutch,  but  she 
seemed  as  lame  with  it  as  without  it,  and  she 


148  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

was  such  a  brisk  little  creature  in  spirit,  and 
was  so  little  depressed  by  her  misfortune  that 
one  felt  it  would  be  unwelcome  to  express  any 
pity.  Betty  knew  that  sometimes  the  poor 
woman  suffered  a  great  deal  of  pain  and  could 
not  move  at  all,  and  that  a  neighbor  who  also 
lived  alone  came  at  those  times  and  stayed 
with  her  for  a  few  weeks.  "  Sister  Sarah 
ain't  one  mite  lame  in  her  mind,"  Serena  said 
proudly  one  day,  and  Betty  found  this  to  be 
the  truth.  She  did  not  like  to  read,  however, 
and  told  Betty  that  it  was  never  anything  but 
a  task,  except  to  study  geography,  and  she  only 
had  one  old  geography,  fairly  worn  to  pieces, 
which  she  knew  by  heart,  with  all  its  lists  of 
towns  and  countries  and  rivers,  the  productions 
and  boundaries  and  capitals  and  climatic  con- 
ditions and  wild  animals  were  at  her  tongue's 
end  for  anybody  who  cared  to  hear  them. 
"  The  old  folks  used  to  think  she  'd  better  ex- 
ercise her  memory  learning  hymns,  and  Sister 
Sarah  favored  geography,"  Serena  once  ex- 
plained ;  "  but  she  knows  what  other  folks 
knows,  and  has  got  a  head  crammed  full  o' 
learning.  She  never  forgets  nothing,  whilst 
I  leak  by  the  way,  myself,  and  do'  know 


UP-COUNTRY.  149 

whether  I  know  anything  or  not,"  she  ended 
triumphantly. 

Serena's  mind  was  full  of  plans  that  day, 
and  after  resting  a  little  while  and  hearing  the 
news,  she  asked  Betty  whether  she  would  go 
with  her  to  a  cousin's  about  a  mile  away  by  a 
pasture  path,  or  whether  she  would  stay  where 
she  was.  The  path  sounded  very  pleasant,  but 
from  the  tone  of  the  invitation  it  seemed  best 
to  remain  behind,  so  she  quickly  decided  and 
Serena  set  forth  alone.  It  was  only  about 
eleven  o'clock  and  she  meant  to  be  back  by 
twelve,  and  dinner  was  put  off  half  an  hour. 
Then  Serena  would  have  the  afternoon  clear 
until  it  was  time  to  go.  The  cousin  had  seen 
trouble  since  the  last  visit,  so  it  never  would  do 
to  go  home  without  seeing  her.  Sister  Sarah 
and  Betty  sat  by  the  front  windows  of  the  liv- 
ing-room, and  Betty  obeyed  a  parting  charge 
to  tell  her  companion  "about  seeing  the  Queen 
and  the  times  when  she  used  to  go  and  see  the 
Prince  o'  Wales's  girls,"  so  that  the  last  of  the 
morning  was  soon  gone. 

"  Such  folks  has  their  aches  an'  pains  just 
like  us,"  commented  sister  Sarah  at  last.  "  I 
expected,  though,  they  was  more  pompous-be* 


150  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

haved  than  you  seem  to  describe.  Well,  they 
have  to  think  o'  their  example,  and  so  does 
others,  for  that  matter.  I  wonder  '£  'mongst  all 
they  've  learned  to  do,  anybody  ever  showed 
'em  how  to  braid  or  hook  'em  a  nice  mat.  I 
s'pose  not,  but  with  all  their  hired  help  an'  all 
their  rags  that  must  come  of  a  year's  wear, 
't  would  be  a  shame  for  them  to  buy." 

"  I  never  saw  any  rugs  just  like  these,"  said 
Betty,  turning  quickly  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow. "  I  don't  believe  people  make  them  ex- 
cept in  America.  But  the  princesses  know  how 
to  do  a  good  many  things."  It  was  very  funny 
to  Betty  to  think  of  their  hooking  rugs  for 
themselves,  however,  but  Serena's  sister  did  not 
appear  to  suspect  it. 

"  Land,  won't  I  have  a  good  time  picking 
over  those  big  full  bags !  "  said  she,  looking  at 
Aunt  Barbara's  rag-bags  with  delight,  and  for- 
getting the  employments  of  royalty.  "  Your 
aunt 's  real  generous,  she  is  so  !  I  sort  out 
everything  into  heaps  on  the  spare  floor  and  if 
I  have  too  much  white  I  just  reach  for  the  dye- 
pot.  I  do  enjoy  myself  over  them  piece-bags." 

"  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of  Aunt 
Barbara  and  Aunt  Mary  without  Serena,"  said 


UP-  CO  UNTR  Y.  1 51 

Betty,  "  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  spare  her 
all  the  time." 

"  She  would  n't  be  spared  by  them,"  said  sis- 
ter Sarah,  putting  her  head  on  one  side  like 
a  bird.  "When  I  was  first  left  alone  after 
marm's  decease,  folks  thought  she  'd  ought  to 
come  back,  but  I  says  No.  She  would  n't  be 
contented  now  same 's  she  was  before  she  went, 
and  I  should  get  wuss  and  wuss  if  I  was  waited 
on  stiddy.  '  No  ! '  says  I  to  every  one,  '  let  me 
be  and  let  her  be.  She  's  free  to  come,  and 
she  's  puttin'  by  her  good  earnin's.  I  wept  all 
night  when  she  first  went  off  to  Tideshead,  sev- 
enteen year  old,  to  be  maid  to  Madam  Leices- 
ter, but  I  knew  from  that  day  she  was  set  to  go 
her  way  same  's  I  was  mine.  But  she  's  be'ii 
a  good  sister  to  me ;  we  never  passed  an  hour 
unfriendly,  and  't  ain't  all  can  say  the  same." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Betty  cheerfully. 

"  Queen  Victori'  knows  what  it  is  to  be 
alone,"  continued  the  little  sister.  "  I  always 
read  how  she  was  a  real  mourner.  Now  I 
seem  to  enter  into  her  feelin's,  bein'  left  by 
myself,  though  not  a  widow-woman." 

Betty  thought  of  the  contrast  between  the 
Queen's  life,  with  its  formality  and  crowded 


152  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

households,  and  its  retinues  and  solemn  pa- 
geantry and  this  empty  little  New  England 
farm-house  on  a  long  hillside  that  sloped  east- 
ward. It  was  so  funny  to  hear  the  Queen  dis- 
cussed and  to  find  her  a  familiar  personage, 
just  as  one  might  in  old  England,  where  one 
was  always  hearing  about  "our  dear  Queen." 
But  to  sister  Sarah  the  Queen  was  only  another 
woman  who  lived  alone,  and  had  many  respon- 
sibilities. 

"  I  expect  you  're  a  regular  little  Britisher 
by  this  time,  ain't  you,  Miss  Betty?" 

"Indeed,  I'm  not,"  answered  our  friend 
with  spirit.  "  Papa  would  be  ashamed  of  me. 
I  'm  a  great  American.  What  made  you  think 
so?"  Sister  Sarah  looked  pleased,  but  did 
not  have  anything  more  to  offer  on  the  sub- 
ject. "  We  're  all  English  to  start  with,  but 
with  the  glory  of  America  added  on,"  said 
Betty  with  girlish  enthusiasm.  "  You  can't 
take  away  our  English  inheritance.  I  used  to 
be  always  insisting  upon  that  with  the  girls, 
that  Shakespeare  and  King  Arthur  were  just 
as  much  ours  as  theirs." 

"  I  expect  you  know  a  sight  o'  things  I 
never  dreamt  of,"  said  sister  Sarah,  "but  to 


UP-COUNTRY.  153 

me  what  takes  place  in  this  neighborhood  is 
just  as  interesting  as  foreign  parts.  Folks  is 
folks,  I  tell  'em.  There  ain't  but  a  few  kinds, 
neither,  but  they  're  put  into  all  sorts  of  places, 
ain't  they  ?  " 

Betty  found  that  her  hostess  had  a  great 
many  entertaining  things  to  say,  but  presently 
there  was  a  fear  expressed  lest  Serena  might 
be  beguiled  into  staying  too  long  at  the  cous- 
in's, and  so  delay  the  dinner. 

"  Let  me  begin ;  oh  please  let  me,"  said 
Betty,  springing  up.  She  had  a  sudden  de- 
lighted instinct  that  it  would  be  charming  to 
wait  upon  Serena  to-day  and  sister  Sarah,  and 
take  her  turn  at  making  them  comfortable.  As 
quick  as  thought  she  turned  up  her  skirt  and 
pinned  it  behind  her  and  said,  "What  next, 
if  you  please,  ma'm,"  in  a  funny  little  tone 
copied  from  that  of  a  precise  London  damsel 
in  Mrs.  Duncan's  employ,  who  always  amused 
the  family  very  much. 

Sister  Sarah  was  fond  of  a  joke,  and  to  tell 
the  truth  this  was  one  of  her  aching  days  and 
she  had  been  dreading  to  take  so  many  steps. 
She  saw  how  pleased  Betty  was  with  her  kind 
little  plan. 


154  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  To  lay  the  table  and  step  lively,"  she  an' 
swered,  shaking  with  laughter.  And  Betty  fol- 
lowed her  directions  until  the  square  dinner- 
table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  covered 
with  a  nice  homespun  linen  cloth  of  which  the 
history  had  to  be  told ;  and  the  old  blue  crock- 
ery ;  and  Betty  had  cut  just  so  many  slices  of 
bread,  and  brought  just  so  many  spiced  pears 
from  the  brown  jar  in  the  cellar-way,  and 
found  the  nice  little  square  piece  of  cold 
corned  beef  which  the  hostess  was  so  glad 
to  have  on  hand,  and  had  looked  at  the  po- 
tatoes two  or  three  times  where  they  were 
baking  in  the  stove  oven  in  the  shed-room 
where  sister  Sarah  did  her  summer  cooking; 
all  these  and  other  things  were  done  when  Se- 
rena, out  of  breath,  and  heated  with  hurrying, 
came  in  at  the  door. 

"  I  'm  going  to  finish  since  I  have  begun," 
said  Betty  proudly.  "  Now  please  use  this  fan, 
Serena,  and  rest  yourself,  and  I  shall  be  ready 
in  a  few  minutes.  I  'm  having  a  beautiful 
good  time.  Which  pitcher  shall  I  take  for  the 
fresh  water?  "  and  out  she  went  to  the  cool  old 
well  under  the  apple-tree. 

"Now  was  there  ever  such  a  darlin'  gal," 


UP-COUNTRY.  155 

said  sister  Sarah,  and  Serena  nodded  her  head. 
"  I  dare  say  she  does  like  to  take  holt.  Miss 
Barb'ra  never  was  one  that  shirked  at  noth- 
ing'' she  had  time  to  reply  before  Betty  came 
back  and  filled  the  tumblers  and  called  the 
sisters  to  their  dinner. 

"  Sarah,"  said  Serena  decisively,  as  she  saw 
how  hard  it  was  for  sister  Sarah  to  move, 
"  you  've  got  to  get  Ann  Sparks,  ain't  ye  ?  " 

And  the  lame  woman  answered  Yes. 

"  I  hate  to  give  up,  as  you  know,  but  one  of 
my  poor  times  is  coming  on,"  she  said  sadly. 

The  dinner  was  a  great  pleasure ;  Betty 
would  do  all  the  waiting,  and  there  was  an  un- 
expected dessert  of  a  jelly  cake  which  Serena 
had  brought  with  her,  being  mindful  of  her  sis- 
ter's fondness  for  it.  Betty  was  touched  with 
the  sisters'  delight  in  being  together,  for  in 
spite  of  what  Miss  Sarah  had  said  about  their 
being  contented  apart,  she  knew  that  the  fam- 
ily had  seen  trouble  in  earlier  times,  and  that 
Serena's  wages  had  been  the  main  dependence, 
while  sister  Sarah  could  not  be  happy  any- 
where but  in  her  own  home. 

There  never  were  such  delicious  baked  po- 
tatoes, and  Betty  humbly  waited  until  she  was 


156  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

perfectly  sure  neither  of  the  sisters  wanted  the 
last  one  before  she  eagerly  took  it.  It  was 
delightful  to  be  so  hungry,  as  hungry  as  one 
could  be  on  shipboard!  And  when  the  gay 
little  dinner  was  over  Betty  made  the  hostess 
still  play  guest,  and  put  on  her  apron  again 
and  carried  the  plates  to  the  shed  kitchen,  and 
found  the  dish  pan  and  the  soap,  and  in  spite 
of  what  anybody  could  say  she  washed  them 
every  one  and  only  let  Serena  wipe  them  and 
put  them  away.  Serena  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing  and  was  so  funny  and  nice  —  mak- 
ing believe  to  be  afraid  they  were  not  doing 
things  right  and  that  "  sister  Sarah  would  turn 
to  and  do  'ein  over  again,  being  amazing  par- 
ticular." 

Then  when  the  flies  were  whisked  out  by 
two  efficient  aprons,  Betty  left  the  sisters  to 
themselves  for  a  good  talk  and  rest,  and  wan- 
dered out  along  the  hillsides  by  the  path  Serena 
had  taken,  and  there  she  sat  and  thought  and 
looked  off  at  the  green  country  and  at  the  sky. 
A  little  black  and  white  dog  came  trotting 
along  the  path  on  some  errand  of  his  own,  and 
when  he  saw  Betty  he  held  up  one  paw  and 
looked  at  her  and  tben  came  to  be  patted  and 


UP-COUNTRY.  157 

to  snuggle  down  by  her  side  as  if  she  were  an 
old  friend.  Betty  was  touched  by  this  expres- 
sion of  confidence  and  sympathy,  as  indeed  she 
might  be,  and  was  sorry  to  say  good-by  to  the 
little  dog  when  it  was  time  to  go  back  to  the 
house.  He  licked  her  fingers  affectionately  as 
she  gave  him  a  last  patting,  and  seemed  dis- 
appointed because  she  left  him  so  soon,  as  if  he 
had  gone  trotting  about  the  world  all  his  life 
to  find  her  and  now  she  was  going  away  again. 
He  did  not  offer  to  follow  her,  but  whenever 
she  looked  back  there  he  was,  sitting  quite  still 
and  watching. 

Jonathan  was  already  at  the  house,  impa- 
tient to  be  on  his  way  home,  and  Serena's  bon- 
net was  just  being  taken  down  from  its  nail 
as  Betty  came  in.  It  seemed  too  bad  to  leave 
sister  Sarah  behind,  but  then  she  had  all  the 
piece-bags  for  company,  as  Serena  said. 


XL 

THE  TWO   FRIENDS. 

THE  Leicester  household  had  been  so  long 
drifting  into  a  staid  and  ceremonious  fashion 
of  life  that  this  visit  of  Betty's  threatened  at 
times  to  be  disturbing.  If  Aunt  Barbara's 
heart  had  not  been  kept  young,  under  all  her 
austere  look  and  manners,  Betty  might  have 
felt  constrained  more  than  once,  but  there 
always  was  an  excuse  to  give  Aunt  Mary,  who 
sometimes  complained  of  too  much  chattering 
on  the  front  door  steps,  or  too  much  scurrying 
up  and  down  stairs  from  Betty's  room.  It  was 
impossible  to  count  the  number  of  times  that 
important  secrets  had  to  be  considered  in  the 
course  of  a  week,  or  to  understand  why  there 
were  so  many  flurries  of  excitement  among  the 
girls  of  Betty's  set,  while  the  general  course 
of  events  in  Tideshead  flowed  so  smoothly. 
Miss  Barbara  Leicester  was  always  a  frank 
and  outspoken  person,  and  the  young  people 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  159 

were  sure  to  hear  her  opinion  whenever  they 
asked  for  it  ;  but  she  herself  seemed  to  grow 
younger,  in  these  days,  and  Betty  pleased  her 
immensely  one  day,  when  it  was  mentioned 
that  a  certain  person  who  wore  caps,  and  was 
what  Betty  called  "poky,"  was  about  Miss 
Barbara's  age  :  "  Aunt  Barbara,  you  are 
always  the  same  age  as  anybody  except  a 


"  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  feel  younger 
than  my  grand-niece,  sometimes,"  said  Aunt 
Barbara,  with  a  funny  little  laugh  ;  but  Betty 
was  puzzled  to  know  exactly  what  she  meant. 

In  one  corner  of  the  upper  story  of  the  large 
old  house  there  was  a  delightful  little  place 
by  one  of  the  dormer-windows.  It  lighted  the 
crooked  stairway  which  came  up  to  the  open 
garret-floor,  and  the  way  to  some  bedrooms 
which  were  finished  off  in  a  row.  Betty  remem- 
bered playing  with  her  dolls  in  this  pleasant  lit- 
tle corner  on  rainy  days,  years  before,  and  re- 
vived its  old  name  of  the  "  cubby-house."  Her 
father  had  kept  his  guns  and  a  collection  of  min- 
erals there,  in  his  boyhood.  It  was  over  Bet- 
ty's own  room,  and  noises  made  there  did  not 


160  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

affect  Aunt  Mary's  nerves,  while  it  was  a  great 
relief  from  the  dignity  of  the  east  bedroom, 
or,  still  more,  the  lower  rooms  of  the  house,  to 
betake  one's  self  with  one's  friend  to  this 
queer-shaped,  brown-raftered  little  corner  of 
the  world.  There  was  a  great  sea-chest  under 
the  eaves,  and  an  astounding  fireboard,  with 
a  picture  of  Apollo  in  his  chariot.  There 
was  a  shelf  with  some  old  brown  books  that 
everybody  had  forgotten,  an  old  guitar,  and 
a  comfortable  wooden  rocking-chair,  beside 
Betty's  favorite  perch  in  the  broad  window- 
seat  that  looked  out  into  the  tops  of  the  trees. 
Her  father's  boyish  trophies  of  rose-quartz  and 
beryl  crystals  and  mica  were  still  scattered 
along  on  the  narrow  ledges  of  the  old  beams, 
and  hanging  to  a  nail  overhead  were  two  dusty 
bunches  of  pennyroyal,  which  had  left  a  mild 
fragrance  behind  them  as  they  withered. 

Betty  had  added  to  this  array  a  toppling 
light-stand  from  another  part  of  the  garret  and 
a  china  mug  which  she  kept  full  of  fresh  wild 
flowers.  She  pinned  "  London  Graphic  "  pic- 
tures here  and  there,  to  make  a  little  bright- 
ness, and  there  were  some  of  her  favorite  ar- 
tist's (Caldecott's)  sketches  of  country  squires 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  161 

and  dames,  reproduced  in  faint  bright  colors, 
which  looked  delightfully  in  keeping  with 
their  surroundings.  As  midsummer  came  on 
the  cubby-house  grew  too  hot  for  comfort,  but 
one  afternoon,  when  rain  had  been  falling  all 
the  morning  to  cool  the  high  roof,  Mary  Beck 
and  Betty  sat  there  together  in  great  comfort 
and  peace.  See  for  yourself  Mary  in  the 
rocking-chair,  and  Betty  in  the  window-seat ; 
they  were  deep  in  thought  of  girlish  problems, 
and,  as  usual,  taking  nearly  opposite  sides. 
They  had  been  discussing  their  plans  for  the 
future.  Mary  Beck  had  confessed  that  she 
wished  to  learn  to  be  a  splendid  singer  and 
sing  in  a  great  church  or  even  in  public  con- 
certs. She  knew  that  she  could,  if  she  were 
only  well  taught ;  but  there  was  nobody  to  give 
her  lessons  in  Tideshead,  and  her  mother 
would  not  hear  of  her  going  to  Kiverport 
twice  a  week. 

"  She  says  that  I  can  keep  up  with  my 
singing  at  home,  and  she  wants  me  to  go  into 
the  choir,  and  I  can't  bear  it.  I  hate  to  hear 
4  we  can't  afford  it,'  and  I  am  sure  to,  if  I  set 
my  heart  on  anything.  Mother  says  that  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  learn  to  sing  when  I 


162  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

am  through  school.  Oh,  dear  me !  "  and  poor 
Mary  looked  disappointed  and  fretful. 

A  disheartening  picture  of  the  present  Becky 
on  the  concert-stage  flashed  through  Betty's 
usually  hopeful  mind.  She  felt  a  heartache, 
as  she  thought  of  her  friend's  unfitness  and 
inevitable  disappointment.  Becky  —  plain,  un- 
gainly, honest  Becky  —  felt  it  in  her  to  do 
great  things,  yet  she  hardly  knew  what  great 
things  were.  Persons  of  Betty's  age  never 
count  upon  having  years  of  time  in  which  to 
make  themselves  better.  Everything  must  be 
finally  decided  by  the  state  of  things  at  the 
moment.  Years  of  patient  study  were  sure  to 
develop  the  wonderful  gift  of  Becky's  strong, 
sweet  voice. 

"  Why  don't  you  sing  in  the  choir,  Becky  ?  " 
asked  Betty  suddenly.  "It  would  make  the 
singing  so  much  better.  I  should  love  to  do 
it,  if  I  could,  and  it  would  help  to  make  Sun- 
day so  pleasant  for  everybody,  to  hear  you 
sing.  Poor  Miss  Fedge's  voice  sounds  funny, 
doesn't  it?  Sing  me  something  now,  Becky 
dear  ;  sing  '  Bonny  Doon  ' !  " 

But  Becky  took  no  notice  of  the  request. 
"What  do  you  mean  to  be,  yourself?"  she 
asked  her  companion,  with  great  interest. 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  163 

*'  You  know  that  I  can't  sing  or  paint  or  do 
any  of  those  things,"  answered  Betty  humbly. 
"  I  used  to  wish  that  I  could  write  books  when 
I  grew  up,  or  at  any  rate  help  papa  to  write 
his.  I  am  almost  discouraged,  though  papa 
says  I  must  keep  on  trying  to  do  the  things 
I  really  wish  to  do."  And  a  bright  flush  cov- 
ered Betty's  eager  face. 

"  Oh,  Becky  dear  !  "  she  said  suddenly. 
"  You  have  something  that  I  envy  you  more 
than  even  your  singing:  just  living  at  home 
in  one  place  and  having  your  mother  and  the 
boys.  I  am  always  wishing  and  wishing,  and 
telling  myself  stories  about  living  somewhere 
in  the  same  house  all  the  time,  with  papa,  and 
having  a  real  home  and  taking  care  of  him. 
You  don't  know  how  good  it  would  feel !  Papa 
says  the  best  we  can  do  now  is  to  make 
a  home  wherever  we  are,  for  ourselves  and 
others  —  but  I  think  it  is  pretty  hard,  some- 
times." 

"  Well,  I  think  the  nicest  thing  would  be 
to  see  the  world,  as  you  do,"  insisted  Mary 
Beck.  "  I  just  hate  dusting  and  keeping 
things  to  rights,  and  I  never  shall  learn  to 
cook !  I  like  to  do  fancy  work  pretty  well. 


164  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

You  would  think  Tideshead  was  perfectly 
awful,  in  winter !  " 

"Why  should  it  be?"  asked  Betty  inno- 
cently. "  Winter  is  house-time.  I  save  things 
to  do  in  winter,  and  "  — 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  preachy,  you  are  so 
good-natured,  you  believe  all  the  prim  things 
that  grown  people  say !  "  exclaimed  Becky. 
"  What  would  you  say  if  you  never  went  to 
Boston  but  once,  and  then  had  the  toothache 
all  the  time?  You  have  been  everywhere, 
and  you  think  it  's  great  fun  to  stay  a  little 
while  in  poky  old  Tideshead,  this  one  sum- 
mer !  " 

"  Why,  it  is  because  I  have  seen  so  many 
other  places  that  I  know  just  how  pleasant 
Tideshead  is." 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  other  places,  too," 
maintained  the  dissatisfied  Becky. 

"  Papa  says  that  we  ourselves  are  the  places 
we  live  in,"  said  Betty,  as  if  it  took  a  great 
deal  of  courage  to  tell  Mary  Beck  so  unwel- 
come a  truth.  "  I  like  to  remember  just  what 
he  says,  for  sometimes,  when  I  have  n't  un- 
derstood at  first,  something  will  happen,  may 
be  a  year  after,  to  make  it  flash  right  into  my 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  165 

mind.  Once  I  heard  a  girl  say  London  was 
stupid  ;  just  think  !  London  !  " 

Mary  Beck  was  rocking  steadily,  but  Betty 
sat  still,  with  her  feet  on  the  window-seat  and 
her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees.  She  could 
look  down  into  the  green  yard  below,  and 
watch  some  birds  that  were  fluttering  near  by 
in  the  wet  trees.  The  wind  blew  in  very  soft 
and  sweet  after  the  rain. 

"  I  used  to  think,  when  I  was  a  little  bit 
of  a  girl,  that  I  would  be  a  missionary,  but  I 
should  perfectly  hate  it  now ! "  said  Mary, 
with  great  vehemence.  "I  just  hate  to  go 
to  Sunday-school  and  be  asked  the  questions ; 
it  makes  me  prickle  all  over.  I  always  feel 
sorry  when  I  wake  up  and  find  it  is  Sunday 
morning.  I  suppose  you  think  that  's  heathen 
and  horrid." 

"  I  always  have  my  Sunday  lessons  with 
papa;  he  reads  to  me,  and  gives  me  some- 
thing to  learn  by  heart,  —  a  hymn  or  some 
lovely  verses  of  poetry.  I  suppose  that  his 
telling  me  what  things  in  the  Bible  really 
mean  keeps  me  from  being  '  prickly '  when 
other  people  talk  about  it.  What  made  you 
wish  to  be  a  missionary  ? "  Betty  inquired, 
with  interest. 


166  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Oh,  there  used  to  be  some  who  came  here 
and  talked  in  the  vestry  Sunday  evenings 
about  riding  on  donkeys  and  camels.  Some- 
times they  would  dress  up  in  Syrian  costumes, 
and  I  used  to  look  grandpa's  'Missionary 
Herald  '  all  through,  to  find  their  names  after- 
ward. It  was  so  nice  to  hear  about  their 
travels  and  the  natives ;  but  that  was  a  long 
while  ago,"  and  Becky  rocked  angrily,  so  that 
the  boards  creaked  underneath. 

"  Last  summer  I  used  to  go  to  such  a  dear 
old  church,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,"  said  Betty. 
"  You  could  look  out  of  the  open  door  by  our 
pew  and  see  the  old  churchyard,  and  look  away 
over  the  green  downs  and  the  blue  sea.  You 
could  see  the  red  poppies  in  the  fields,  and 
hear  the  larks,  too." 

"  What  kind  of  a  church  was  it  ? "  asked 
Mary,  with  suspicion.  "  Episcopal  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Betty.  "  Church  of  Eng- 
land, people  say  there." 

"I  heard  somebody  say  once  that  your 
father  was  very  lax  in  religious  matters,"  said 
Becky  seriously. 

"  I  'd  rather  be  very  lax  and  love  my  Sun- 
days,*' said  Betty  severely.  "  I  don't  think  it 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  167 

makes  any  difference,  really,  about  what  one 
does  in  church.  I  want  to  be  good,  and  it 
helps  me  to  be  in  church  and  think  and  hear 
about  it.  Oh,  dear !  my  foot 's  getting  asleep," 
said  Betty,  beginning  to  pound  it  up  and 
down.  The  two  girls  did  not  like  to  look  at 
each  other ;  they  were  considering  questions 
that  were  very  hard  to  talk  about. 

"  I  suppose  it  's  being  good  that  made  you 
run  after  Nelly  Foster.  I  wished  that  I  had 
gone  to  see  her  more,  when  you  went ;  but  she 
used  to  act  hatefully  sometimes  before  you 
came.  She  used  to  cry  in  school,  though," 
confessed  Becky. 

"  I  did  n't  *  run  after '  her.  You  do  call 
things  such  dreadful  names,  Mary  Beck ! 
There,  I  'm  getting  cross,  my  foot  is  all  sting- 
ing." 

"  Turn  it  just  the  other  way,"  advised  Mary 
eagerly.  "  Let  me  pound  it  for  you,"  and  she 
briskly  went  to  the  rescue.  Betty  wondered 
afresh  why  she  liked  this  friend  herself  so 
much,  and  yet  disliked  so  many  things  that 
she  said  and  did. 

Serena  always  said  that  Betty  had  a  won't- 
you-please-like-me  sort  of  way  with  her,  and 


168  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Mary  Beck  felt  it  more  than  ever  as  she  re- 
turned to  her  rocking-chair  and  jogged  on 
again,  but  she  could  not  bend  from  her  high 
sense  of  disapproval  immediately.  "  What  do 
you  think  the  unjust  steward  parable  means, 
then?"  she  asked,  not  exactly  returning  to 
the  fray,  but  with  an  injured  manner.  "  It  is 
in  the  Sunday-school  lesson  to-morrow,  and  I 
can't  understand  it  a  bit,  —  I  never  could." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Betty,  in  a  most  cheerful  tone. 
"  See  here,  Becky,  it  does  n't  rain,  and  we  can 
go  and  ask  Mr.  Grant  to  tell  us  about  it." 

"  Go  ask  the  minister ! "  exclaimed  Mary 
Beck,  much  shocked.  "  Why,  would  you  dare 
to?" 

"  That 's  what  ministers  are  for,"  answered 
Betty  simply.  "We  can  stay  a  little  while 
and  see  the  girls,  if  he  is  busy.  Come  now, 
Becky,"  and  Becky  reluctantly  came.  She 
was  to  think  a  great  many  times  afterward  of 
that  talk  in  the  garret.  She  was  beginning 
to  doubt  whether  she  had  really  succeeded  in 
settling  all  the  questions  of  life,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen. 

The  two  friends  went  along  arm-in-arm  un- 
der the  still-dripping  trees.  The  parsonage 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS.  169 

was  some  distance  up  the  long  Tideshead 
street,  and  the  sun  was  coming  out  as  they 
stood  on  the  doorsteps.  The  minister  was 
amazed  when  he  found  that  these  parishioners 
had  come  to  have  a  talk  with  him  in  the  study, 
and  to  ask  something  directly  at  his  willing 
hands.  He  preached  the  better  for  it,  next 
day,  and  the  two  girls  listened  the  better.  As 
for  Mary  Beck,  the  revelation  to  her  honest 
heart  of  having  a  right  in  the  minister,  and 
tbe  welcome  convenience  of  his  fund  of  knowl- 
edge and  his  desire  to  be  of  use  to  her  per- 
sonally, was  an  immense  surprise.  Kind  Mr. 
Grant  had  been  a  part  of  the  dreaded  Sun- 
days, a  fixture  of  the  day  and  the  church 
and  the  pulpit,  before  that ;  he  was,  indirectly, 
a  reproach,  and,  until  this  day,  had  never 
seemed  like  other  people  exactly,  or  an  every- 
day friend.  Perhaps  the  good  man  wondered 
if  it  were  not  his  own  fault,  a  little.  He  tried 
to  be  very  gay  and  friendly  with  his  own  girls 
at  supper-time,  and  said  afterward  that  they 
must  have  Mary  Beck  and  Betty  Leicester  to 
take  tea  with  them  some  time  during  the  next 
week. 

"  But  there  are  others  in  the  parish  who  will 


170  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

feel  hurt,"  urged  Mrs.  Grant  anxiously ;  and 
Mr.  Grant  only  answered  that  there  must  be  a 
dozen  tea-parties,  then,  as  if  there  were  no 
such  things  as  sponge-cake  and  ceremony  in 
the  world! 


XII. 

BETTY  AT   HOME. 

EVEKYBODY  was  as  kind  as  possible  when 
Betty  Leicester  first  came  to  Tideshead,  and 
best  company  manners  prevailed  toward  her ; 
but  as  the  girls  got  used  to  having  a  new 
friend  and  playmate,  some  of  them  proved 
disappointing.  Nothing  could  shake  her  deep 
affection  for  honest-hearted  Mary  Beck,  but  in 
some  directions  Mary  had  made  up  her  inex- 
perienced and  narrow  mind,  and  would  listen 
to  none  of  Betty's  kindly  persuasions.  The 
Fosters'  father  had  done  some  very  dishonest 
deeds,  and  had  run  away  from  justice  after 
defrauding  some  of  the  most  trustful  of  his 
neighbors.  Mary  Beck's  mother  had  lost 
some  money  in  this  way,  and  old  Captain 
Beck  even  more,  so  that  the  girl  had  heard 
sharp  comments  and  indignant  blame  at 
home  ;  and  she  shocked  Miss  Barbara  Leices- 
ter and  Betty  one  morning  by  wondering  how 


172  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Henry  and  Nelly  Foster  could  have  had  the 
face  to  go  to  church  the  very  Sunday  after 
their  father  was  sent  to  jail.  She  did  not  be- 
lieve that  they  cared  a  bit  what  people  thought. 

"  Poor  children,"  said  Miss  Leicester,  with 
quiet  compassion,  "  the  sight  of  their  pitiful 
young  faces  was  enough  for  me.  When 
should  one  go  to  church  if  not  in  bitter 
trouble  ?  That  boy  and  girl  look  years  older 
than  the  rest  of  you  young  folks." 

"  It  never  seemed  to  me  that  they  thought 
any  less  of  themselves,"  said  Mary  Beck,  in  a 
disagreeable  tone  ;  "  and  I  would  n't  ask  them 
to  my  party,  if  I  had  one." 

"  But  they  have  worked  so  hard,"  said  Betty. 
"  Jonathan  said  yesterday  that  Harry  Foster 
told  him  this  spring,  when  he  was  working 
here,  that  he  was  going  to  pay  every  cent  that 
his  father  owed,  if  he  lived  long  enough.  He 
is  studying  hard,  too ;  you  know  that  he  hoped 
to  go  to  college  before  this  happened.  They 
always  look  as  if  they  were  grateful  for  just 
being  spoken  to." 

"  Plenty  of  people  have  made  everything  of 
them  and  turned  their  heads,"  said  Mary  Beck, 
as  if  she  were  repeating  something  that  had  been 


BETTY  AT  HOME.  173 

said  at  home.  "  I  think  I  should  pity  some 
people  whose  father  had  behaved  so,  but  I 
don't  like  the  Fosters  a  bit." 

"  They  are  carrying  a  heavy  load  on  their 
young  shoulders,"  said  Miss  Barbara  Leices- 
ter. "  You  will  feel  differently  by  and  by, 
about  them.  Help  them  all  you  can,  Mary ! " 

Mary  Beck  went  home  that  morning  much 
displeased.  She  did  n't  mean  to  be  hard- 
hearted ,  but  it  had  seemed  to  her  like  proper 
condemnation  of  wrong-doing  to  treat  the  Fos- 
ters loftily.  Now  that  Betty's  eyes  had  filled 
with  tears  as  she  listened,  and  Miss  Leices- 
ter evidently  thought  less  of  her  for  what 
had  been  said,  Mary  began  to  feel  doubtful 
about  the  matter.  Yes,  what  if  her  father 
had  been  like  theirs,  —  could  she  be  shut  up 
like  a  prisoner,  and  behave  as  she  expected 
the  Fosters  to  behave?  By  the  time  she 
reached  her  own  house  she  was  ashamed  of 
what  she  had  said.  Miss  Leicester  was  at  that 
moment  telling  Betty  that  she  was  astonished 
at  such  bitter  feeling  in  their  young  neighbor. 
"She  has  never  really  thought  about  it.  I 
dare  say  she  only  needs  a  sensible  word  or 
two  to  change  her  mind.  You  children  have 


174  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

such  tremendous  opinions,"  and  Aunt  Barbara 
smiled. 

"  Once  when  I  was  staying  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,"  said  Betty,  "  I  belonged  to  such  a 
nice  out-of-door  club,  Aunt  Barbara." 
"  Did  you  ?  What  was  it  like  ?  " 
"Oh,  not  really  like  anything  that  I  can 
think  of,  only  we  had  great  fun  together.  We 
used  to  walk  miles  and  miles,  and  carry  some 
buns  or  buy  them,  and  get  milk  or  ginger- 
beer  at  the  farms.  There  are  so  many  ruins 
to  go  to  see,  and  old  churches,  and  homes  of 
eminent  persons  of  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  and 
we  would  read  from  their  works ;  and  it  was  so 
pleasant  coming  home  by  the  foot-paths  after- 
ward," announced  Betty  with  satisfaction. 
"  The  governesses  used  to  go,  too,  but  we  could 
outrun  all  but  one  of  them,  the  Barry's,  and 
my  Miss  Winter,  who  was  as  dear  as  could  be. 
I  had  my  lessons  with  the  Duncans,  you  know. 
Oh,  it  was  such  fun  !  —  the  others  would  let 
us  go  on  as  fast  as  we  liked,  and  come  poking 
along  together,  and  have  their  own  quiet  pleas- 
ures." Betty  was  much  diverted  with  her 
recollections.  "  I  mean  to  begin  an  out-of- 
door  club  here,  Aunt  Barbara." 


BETTY  AT  HOME.  175 

"  In  my  time,"  said  Aunt  Barbara,  "  girls 
were  expected  to  know  how  to  sew,  and  to 
learn  to  be  good  housekeepers." 

"  You  would  join  the  club,  would  n't  you  ?  " 
asked  Betty  anxiously. 

"  And  be  run  away  from,  like  the  stout 
governesses,  I  dare  say." 

There  was  an  attempt  at  a  serious  expres- 
sion, but  Miss  Leicester  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing a  little.  Down  came  Miss  Mary  at  this 
moment,  with  Letty  behind  her,  carrying 
cushions,  and  Betty  sprang  up  to  help  make 
the  couch  ready. 

"  I  wish  that  you  would  belong,  too,  and 
come  with  us  on  wheels,"  said  she,  return- 
ing to  the  subject  that  had  been  interrupted. 
"You  could  drive  to  the  meetings  and  be 
head-member,  Aunt  Mary."  But  Aunt  Mary 
was  tired  that  day,  and  wished  to  have  no 
demands  made  upon  her.  There  were  days 
when  Betty  had  a  plan  for  every  half -hour,  re- 
marked Aunt  Barbara  indulgently. 

"  Suppose  you  come  out  to  the  garden  with 
me  to  pick  some  raspberries  ?  "  and  Betty  was 
quietly  removed  from  the  weak  nerves  of 
Aunt  Mary,  who  plaintively  said  that  Betty 
had  almost  too  much  life. 


176  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"Too  much  life!  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said 
Serena,  who  was  the  grandniece's  chief  up- 
holder and  champion.  "  We  did  need  waking 
up,  't  was  a  fact,  Miss  Leicester  ;  now,  wa'n't 
it  ?  It  seemed  just  like  old  times,  that  night 
of  the  tea-party.  Trouble  is,  we  've  all  got 
to  bein'  too  master  comfortable,  and  thought 
we  could  n't  step  one  foot  out  o'  the  beaten 
rut.  'T  is  the  misfortune  o'  livin'  in  a  little 
place." 

And  Serena  marched  back  to  the  kitchen, 
carrying  the  empty  glass  from  which  Miss 
Mary  Leicester  had  taken  some  milk,  as  if  it 
were  the  banner  of  liberty. 

She  put  it  down  on  the  clean  kitchen-table. 
"  Too  much  life !  "  the  good  woman  repeated 
scornfully.  "  I  'd  like  to  see  a  gal  that  had 
too  much  life  for  me.  I  was  that  kind  my- 
self, and  right  up  an'  doin'.  All  these  Tides- 
head  gals  behave  as  slow  as  the  everlastin 
month  o'  March.  Fussin'  about  their  clothes, 
and  f ussin'  about  '  you  do  this  '  and  '  /  cai*'t 
do  that,'  an'  lettin'  folks  that  know  something 
ride  right  by  'em.  See  this  little  Betty,  now, 
sweet  as  white  laylocks,  I  do  declare.  There 
she  goes  'long  o'  Miss  Barbary,  out  into  the 
ros'berry  bushes." 


BETTY  AT  HOME,  177 

46  Aunt  Barbara,"  Betty  was  saying  a  few 
minutes  later,  as  one  knelt  each  side  of  the 
row  of  white  raspberries,  —  "  Aunt  Barbara,  do 
you  like  best  being  grown  up  or  being  about 
as  old  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  Being  grown  up,  I  'm  sure,  dear,"  replied 
the  aunt,  after  serious  reflection. 

44 1  'm  so  glad.  I  don't  believe  people  ever 
have  such  hard  times  with  themselves  after- 
ward as  they  do  growing  up." 

44  What  is  the  matter  now,  Betty  ?  " 

44  Mary  Beck,  Aunt  Barbara.  I  thought 
that  I  liked  her  ever  and  ever  so  much,  but  I 
have  days  when  I  want  to  shake  her.  It  's 
my  fault,  because  I  wake  up  and  think  about 
her  and  feel  cross  before  I  even  look  at  her, 
and  then  I  can't  get  on  all  day.  Then  some 
days  I  can  hardly  wait  to  get  over  to  see  her, 
and  we  have  such  a  good  time.  But  you  can't 
change  her  mind  about  anything." 

44 1  thought  that  you  would  n't  be  so  un- 
reasonable all  summer,"  said  Aunt  Barbara, 
picking  very  fast.  "  You  see  that  you  expect 
Mary  Beck  to  be  perfect,  and  the  poor  child 
is  n't.  You  made  up  a  Mary  Beck  in  your 
own  mind,  who  was  perfect  at  all  points  and 


178  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

just  the  kind  of  a  girl  you  would  like  best  to 
spend  all  your  time  with.  Be  thankful  for 
all  you  do  like  in  her  ;  that  's  the  best  way." 

"  I  just  fell  in  love  with  a  girl  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  last  summer,"  said  Betty  sorrowfully. 
"  We  wished  to  be  together  all  the  time,  and 
we  wrote  notes  and  always  went  about  to- 
gether. She  was  older  than  I.  But  one  day 
she  said  things  that  made  me  forget  I  ever 
liked  her  a  bit.  She  wanted  to  make  up  after- 
ward, but  I  could  n't ;  and  she  writes  and 
writes  me  letters,  but  I  never  wish  to  see  her 
again.  I  am  sorry  I  ever  liked  her."  Betty's 
eyes  flashed,  and  her  cheeks  were  very  red. 

"  I  suppose  it  has  been  hard  for  her  too," 
said  Aunt  Barbara ;  "  but  we  must  like  dif- 
ferent friends  for  different  reasons.  Just  try 
to  remember  that  you  cannot  find  perfection. 
I  used  to  know  a  great  many  girls  when  I  was 
growing  up,  and  some  of  them  are  my  friends 
still,  the  few  who  are  left.  To  find  one  true- 
hearted  friend  is  worth  living  through  a  great 
many  disappointments." 

Two  or  three  weeks  went  over  before  Betty 
ceased  to  have  the  feeling  that  she  was  a  stranger 


BETTY  AT  HOME.  179 

and  foreigner  in  Tideshead.  At  first  she  said 
"  you  "  and  "  I  "  when  she  was  talking  with 
the  girls,  but  soon  it  became  easier  to  say 
"we."  She  took  great  pleasure  in  doing 
whatever  the  rest  did,  from  joining  a  class  in 
Sunday-school  to  carrying  round  one  of  the 
subscription-papers  to  pay  for  some  Fourth 
of  July  fireworks,  which  went  up  in  a  blaze 
of  splendor  on  the  evening  of  that  glorious 
day. 

After  the  garden  tea-party,  nothing  hap- 
pened, of  a  social  nature,  for  some  time, 
although  several  of  the  boys  and  girls  gave 
fine  hints  that  something  might  be  expected  to 
happen  at  their  own  houses.  There  was  a 
cheerful  running  to  and  fro  about  the  Leices- 
ter house,  and  the  high  white  gate  next  the 
street  was  heard  to  creak  and  clack  at  least 
once  in  every  half -hour.  Nelly  Foster  came 
seldom,  but  she  was  the  brightest  and  mer- 
riest of  all  the  girls  when  she  grew  a  little 
excited,  and  lost  the  frightened  look  that  had 
made  lines  on  her  forehead  much  too  soon. 
Harry  was  not  seen  very  often,  but  Betty 
wondered  a  great  deal  about  him,  and  fan- 
cied him  hunting  and  fishing  in  all  sorts  of 


180  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

dangerous  places.  The  Picknell  girls  came 
into  the  village  on  Sundays  always,  and  often 
once  or  twice  in  the  week  ;  but  it  was  haying 
time  now,  and  they  were  very  busy  at  the 
farm.  Betty  liked  them  dearly,  and  so  did 
Mary  Beck,  who  did  not  get  on  with  the  min- 
ister's daughters  at  all,  and  had  a  prejudice, 
as  we  know,  against  Nelly  Foster.  These 
made  the  little  company  which  seemed  most 
closely  allied,  especially  after  the  Sin  Book 
Club  became  a  thing  of  the  past  as  an  active 
society.  Betty  had  proposed  the  out-of-door 
club,  and  had  started  a  tennis-court,  and  de- 
voted much  time  to  it ;  but  nobody  knew  how 
to  play  very  well  yet,  except  Harry  Foster 
and  Julia  Picknell,  and  they  were  the  most 
difficult  ones  to  catch  for  an  idle  afternoon. 
George  Max  could  play,  and  one  or  two  others 
could  stumble  through  a  game  and  like  it 
pretty  well ;  but  as  for  Mary  Beck,  her  shoes 
were  too  small  for  much  agility,  and  she  liked 
to  wear  her  clothes  so  tight  that  she  was  very 
clumsy  with  a  racket.  Betty's  light  little 
gowns  looked  prim  and  plain  to  the  Tideshead 
girls,  who  thought  their  colors  very  strange,  to 
begin  with,  and  had  not  the  sense  to  be  envious 


BETTY  AT  HOME.  181 

when  their  wearer  went  by,  as  light-footed  and 
graceful  as  they  were  awkward.  They  could 
not  understand  the  simplicity  that  was  natural 
to  Betty,  but  everybody  liked  her,  and  felt  as 
much  interested  as  if  she  were  an  altogether 
new  variety  of  human  being.  Perhaps  we 
shall  understand  the  situation  better  if  we 
read  a  letter  which  our  heroine  wrote  just 
then :  — 

MY  DEAR  PAPA,  —  This  is  from  your  Betty, 
who  intended  to  take  a  long  walk  with  Mary 
Beck  this  afternoon,  but  is  now  prevented  by 
a  thunder-shower.  It  makes  me  wonder  what 
you  do  when  you  get  wet,  and  who  sees  that 
you  take  off  your  wet  clothes  and  tries  not  to 
let  you  have  a  cold.  Is  n't  it  almost  time  for 
you  to  come  home  now,  papa?  I  do  miss 
taking  care  of  you  so  very  much.  You  will 
be  tired  hearing  about  Mary  Beck,  and  you 
can't  stop  it,  can  you  ?  as  if  you  laughed  and 
then  talked  about  something  else  when  we 
were  walking  together.  You  must  remember 
that  you  said  we  must  be  always  fighting  an 
enemy  in  ourselves,  and  my  enemy  just  now 
is  making  little  funs  of  Mary,  and  seeing  that 


182  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

she  does  n't  know  so  much  as  she  thinks  she 
does.  I  like  too  well  to  show  her  that  she  is 
mistaken  when  shet  tells  about  things  ;  but  it 
makes  me  sorry  afterward,  because,  in  spite 
of  myself,  I  like  her  better  than  I  do  anybody. 
I  truly  love  her,  papa ;  indeed,  I  do,  but  I 
like  to  tease  her  better  than  to  help  her,  when 
she  puts  on  airs  about  the  very  places  where 
I  have  been  and  things  I  have  done.  Aunt 
Barbara  speaks  of  her  manners,  and  wishes  I 
would  "  play  with  "  Nelly  Foster  and  the  min- 
ister's girls  :  but  Nelly  is  like  anybody  grown 
up,  —  I  suppose  it  is  because  she  has  seen 
trouble,  as  people  say  here  ;  and  the  minister's 
girls  are  little  '/raid  cats.  That  is  what 
Serena  says,  and  is  sure  to  make  you  laugh. 
"Try  and  make  'em  hop  'round,"  Serena  told 
me  at  the  party,  and  I  did  try ;  but  they  are  n't 
good  hoppers,  and  that 's  all  there  is  to  say. 
I  sent  down  to  Riverport  and  bought  Seth  a 
book  of  violin  airs,  and  he  practiced  until  two 
o'clock  one  morning,  so  that  Serena  and  Jona- 
than were  saying  dreadful  things.  Aunt  Mary 
is  about  the  same,  and  so  is  Aunt  Barbara,  and 
they  send  their  love.  Papa,  you  must  never 
tell,  but  I  hate  the  one  and  love  the  other. 


BETTY  AT  HOME.  183 

Mary  Beck  is  n't  half  so  bad  as  I  am  to  say 
that,  but  now  it  is  a  black  mark  and  must 
stay.  There  is  one  awful  piece  of  news.  The 
Fosters'  father  has  broken  out  of  jail  and 
escaped,  and  they  are  offering  a  great  reward, 
and  it  is  in  all  the  papers.  I  ought  to  go  to 
see  Nelly,  but  I  dread  it.  I  am  writing  this 
last  page  another  day,  for  yesterday  the  sun 
came  out  after  the  shower  and  I  went  out  with 
Aunt  Barbara.  She  is  letting  Mrs.  Foster  do 
some  sewing  for  me.  She  says  that  my  clothes 
were  in  ruins ;  she  did  indeed,  and  that  they 
had  been  badly  washed.  I  hope  that  yours 
are  not  the  same.  Mrs.  Foster  looked  ter- 
ribly frightened  and  pale,  and  asked  Aunt  B. 
to  come  into  the  other  room,  and  told  her 
about  Mr.  Foster.  Then  it  was  in  the  paper 
last  night.  Papa,  dear,  I  do  remember  what 
you  said  in  one  of  your  letters  about  being  a 
Tideshead  girl  myself  for  this  summer,  and 
not  standing  off  and  finding  fault.  I  feel 
more  like  a  Tideshead  girl  lately,  but  I  wish 
they  would  n't  keep  saying  how  slow  it  is  and 
nothing  going  on.  We  might  do  so  many 
nice  things,  but  they  make  such  great  fusses 
first,  instead  of  just  going  and  doing  them,  the 


184  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

way  you  and  I  do.  They  think  of  every  reason 
why  you  can't  do  things  that  you  can  do. 
The  currants  are  all  gone.  You  can't  have  a 
currant  pie  this  year.  I  thought  those  by  the 
fence,  under  the  cherry-tree,  might  last  until 
you  came,  because  it  is  shady,  but  they  all 
spoiled  in  the  rain.  Now  I  am  going  to  read 
in  "  Walton's  Lives  "  to  Aunt  Mary.  She  says 
it  is  a  book  everybody  ought  to  know,  and  that 
I  run  wild  more  than  I  ought  at  my  age.  I 
like  to  read  aloud,  as  you  know,  so  good-by, 
but  my  age  is  such,  a  trouble.  If  you  were 
here,  we  would  have  the  best  good  time. 
Your  own  child,  BETTY. 


xm. 

A  GREAT  EXCITEMENT. 

THAT  afternoon  Betty's  lively  young  voice 
grew  droning  and  dull  after  a  while,  as  she 
read  the  life  of  Dr.  Donne,  and  at  last  she 
stopped  altogether. 

"  Aunt  Mary,  I  can't  help  thinking  about 
the  Fosters'  father.  Do  you  suppose  he  will 
come  home  and  frighten  them  some  night  ?  " 

"  No,  he  would  hardly  dare  to  come  where 
they  are  sure  to  be  looking  for  him,"  said 
Aunt  Mary.  "  Dear  me,  the  thought  makes 
me  so  nervous." 

"  When  I  have  read  to  the  end  of  this  page 
I  will  just  run  down  to  see  Nelly  a  few  min- 
utes, if  you  can  spare  me.  I  keep  dreading  to 
see  her  until  I  am  almost  afraid  to  go." 

Miss  Mary  sighed  and  said  yes.  Somehow 
she  didn't  get  hold  of  Betty's  love,  —  only  her 
duty. 

Betty  lingered  in   the  garden   and  picked 


186  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

some  mignonette  before  she  started,  and  a 
bright  carnation  or  two  from  Aunt  Barbara's 
special  plants.  The  Fosters'  house  was  farther 
down  the  street  on  the  same  side,  and  Nelly's 
blinds  were  shut,  but  if  Betty  had  only  known 
it,  poor  Nelly  was  looking  out  wistfully  through 
them,  and  wishing  with  all  her  heart  that  her 
young  neighbor  would  come  in.  She  dreaded 
the  meeting,  too,  but  there  was  such  a  simple, 
frank  friendliness  about  Betty  Leicester  that  it 
did  not  hurt  as  if  one  of  the  other  girls  had 
come. 

There  came  the  sound  of  the  gate-latch,  and 
Nelly  went  eagerly  down.  "  Come  up  to  my 
room ;  I  was  sitting  there  sewing,"  she  said, 
blushing  very  red,  and  Betty  felt  her  own 
cheeks  burn.  How  dreadful  it  must  be  not  to 
have  such  a  comforting  dear  father  as  hers ! 
She  put  her  arms  round  Nelly's  neck  and 
kissed  her,  and  Nelly  could  hardly  keep  from 
crying ;  but  up-stairs  they  went  to  the  bed- 
room, where  Betty  had  never  happened  to  go 
before.  She  felt  suddenly,  as  she  never  had 
before,  how  pinched  and  poor  the  Fosters  must 
be.  Nelly  was  determined  to  be  brave  and' 
cheerful,  and  took  up  her  sewing  again.  It 


A    GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  18? 

happened  to  be  a  little  waist  of  Betty's  own. 
Betty  tried  to  talk  gayly  about  being  very  tired 
of  reading  "  Walton 's  Lives."  She  had  come 
to  a  dull  place  in  Dr.  Donne's  memoirs,  though 
she  thought  them  delightful  at  first.  She 
was  just  reading  "  The  Village  on  the  Cliff," 
on  her  own  account,  with  perfect  delight. 

"  Harry  reads  4  Walton's  Angler,'  "  said 
Nelly.  "  That 's  the  same  man,  is  n't  he  ?  It 
is  a  stupid-looking  old  brown  book  that  be- 
longed to  my  grandfather." 

"  Papa  reads  it,  too,"  said  Betty,  nodding 
her  head  wisely.  "  I  am  in  such  a  hurry  to 
have  him  come,  when  I  think  of  Harry.  I 
am  sure  that  he  will  help  him  to  be  a  natu- 
ralist or  something  like  that.  Mr.  Buckland 
would  have  just  loved  Harry.  I  knew  him 
when  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  thing.  Papa  used 
to  take  me  to  see  him  in  London,  and  all  his 
dreadful  beasts  and  snakes  used  to  frighten 
me,  but  I  do  so  .like  to  remember  him  now. 
Harry  makes  me  think  of  Robinson  Crusoe 
and  Mayne  Reid's  books,  and  those  story-book 
boys  who  used  to  do  such  wild  things  fishing 
and  hunting." 

"  We  used  to  think  that  Harry  never  would 


188  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

get  on  because  he  spent  so  much  time  in  the 
woods,  but  somehow  he  always  learned  his 
lessons  too,"  said  Nelly  proudly;  "and  now 
his  fishing  brings  in  so  much  money  that  I 
don't  know  how  we  shall  live  when  winter 
comes.  We  are  so  anxious  about  winter.  Oh, 
Betty,  it  is  easy  to  tell  you,  but  I  can't  bear  to 
have  other  people  even  look  at  me  ;  "  and  she 
burst  into  tears  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"Let  us  go  out-doors,  Just  down  through 
the  garden  and  across  into  the  woods  a  little 
while,"  pleaded  Betty.  "  Do,  Nelly,  dear !  " 
and  presently  they  were  on  their  way.  The 
fresh  summer  air  and  the  sunshine  were  much 
better  than  the  close-shaded  room,  where  Nelly 
was  startled  by  every  sound  about  the  house, 
and  they  soon  lost  their  first  feeling  of  con- 
straint as  they  sat  under  a  pine-tree  whip- 
ping two  of  Miss  Barbara  Leicester's  new  tea- 
napkins.  Betty  had  many  things  to  say  about 
her  English  life  and  her  friends.  Mary  Beck 
never  cared  to  hear  much  about  England,  and 
it  was  always  delightful  to  have  an  interested 
listener.  At  last  the  sewing  was  finished,  and 
Nelly  proposed  that  they  should  go  a  little 
way  farther,  and  come  out  on  the  river  bank. 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  189 

Harry  would  be  coming  up  about  this  time  with 
his  fare  of  fish,  if  he  had  had  good  luck.  It 
would  be  fun  to  shout  to  him  as  he  went  by. 

They  pushed  on  together  through  the  open 
pasture,  where  the  sweet -fern  and  bay  berry 
bushes  grew  tall  and  thick ;  there  was  another 
strip  of  woods  between  them  and  the  river, 
and  just  this  side  was  a  deserted  house,  which 
had  not  been  lived  in  for  many  years  and  was 
gray  and  crumbling.  The  fields  that  belonged 
to  it  had  been  made  part  of  a  great  sheep  pas- 
ture, and  two  or  three  sheep  were  standing  by 
the  half-opened  door,  as  if  they  were  quite  at 
home  there  in  windy  or  wet  weather.  Betty 
had  seen  the  old  house  before,  and  thought  it 
was  most  picturesque.  She  now  proposed  that 
they  should  have  a  picnic  party  by  and  by, 
and  make  a  fire  in  the  old  fireplace ;  but  Nelly 
Foster  thought  there  would  be  great  danger  of 
burning  the  house  down. 

"Suppose  we  go  and  look  in?"  pleaded 
Betty.  "  Mary  Beck  and  I  saw  it  not  long 
after  I  came,  but  she  thought  it  was  going  to 
rain,  so  that  we  did  n't  stop.  I  like  to  go 
into  an  empty  old  ruin,  and  make  up  stories 
about  it,  and  wonder  who  used  to  live  there. 


190  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Don't  stop  to  pick  these  blackberries;  you 
know  they  are  n't  half  ripe,"  she  teased  Nelly ; 
and  so  they  went  over  to  the  old  house,  fright- 
ening away  the  sheep  as  they  crossed  the  door- 
step boldly.  It  was  all  in  ruins ;  the  roof  was 
broken  about  the  chimney,  so  that  the  sun 
shone  through  upon  the  floor,  and  the  light- 
red  bricks  were  softened  and  sifting  down. 
In  one  corner  there  was  a  heap  of  withes  for 
mending  fences,  which  had  been  pulled  about 
by  the  sheep,  and  there  were  some  mud  nests 
of  swallows  high  against  the  walls,  but  the 
birds  seemed  to  have  already  left  them.  This 
room  had  been  the  kitchen,  and  behind  it  was 
a  dark,  small  place  which  must  have  been  a 
bedroom  when  people  lived  there,  dismal  as  it 
looked  now. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  in  here  and  all  about 
the  place,"  said  Betty  cheerfully,  and  stepped 
in  to  see  what  she  could  find. 

"  Oh,  go  back,  Nelly  !  "  she  screamed,  in  a 
great  fright,  the  next  moment ;  and  they  fled 
out  of  the  house  into  the  warm  sunshine. 
They  had  had  time  to  see  that  a  man  was  lying 
on  the  floor  as  if  he  were  dead.  Betty's  heart 
was  beating  so  that  she  could  hardly  speak. 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  191 

"We  must  get  somebody  to  come,"  she 
panted,  trying  to  stop  Nelly.  "  Was  it  some- 
body dead?" 

But  Nelly  sank  down  as  pale  as  ashes  into 
the  sweet -fern  bushes,  and  looked  at  her 
strangely.  "  Oh,  Betty  Leicester,  it  will  kill 
mother,  it  will  kill  her  !  I  believe  it  was  my 
father  ;  what  shall  I  do? " 

"Your  father,"  faltered  Betty,  —  "your  fa- 
ther ?  We  must  go  and  tell."  Then  she  re- 
membered that  he  was  a  hunted  man,  a  fugi- 
tive from  justice. 

They  looked  fearfully  at  the  house ;  the 
sheep  had  come  back  and  stood  again  near  the 
loorway.  There  was  something  more  horri- 
ble than  the  two  girls  had  ever  known  in  the 
silence  of  the  place.  It  would  have  been  less 
r.wful  if  there  had  been  a  face  at  the  broken 
door  or  windows. 

"Henry  —  we  must  try  to  stop  Henry," 
said  poor  pale  Nelly,  and  they  hurried  toward 
the  river  shore.  They  could  not  help  looking 
anxiously  behind  them  as  they  passed  the  belt 
of  pine  ;  a  terrible  fear  possessed  them  as  they 
ran.  "  He  is  afraid  that  somebody  will  see  him. 
I  wonder  if  he  will  come  home  to-night." 


192  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  He  must  be  ill  there,"  said  .Betty,  but  she 
did  not  dare  to  say  anything  else.  What  an 
unendurable  thing  to  be  afraid  and  ashamed 
of  one's  own  father  ! 

They  looked  down  the  river  with  eager  eyes. 
Yes,  there  was  Harry  Foster's  boat  coming 
up  slowly,  with  the  three-cornered  sail  spread 
to  catch  the  light  breeze.  Nelly  gave  a  long 
sigh  and  sank  down  on  the  turf,  and  covered 
her  face  as  she  cried  bitterly.  Betty  thought, 
with  cowardly  longing,  of  the  quiet  and  safety 
of  Aunt  Mary's  room,  and  the  brown-covered 
volume  of  "  Walton's  Lives."  Then  she  sum- 
moned all  her  courage.  These  two  might 
never  have  sorer  need  of  a  friend  than  in  this 
summer  afternoon. 

Henry  Foster's  boat  sailed  but  slowly.  It 
was  heavily  laden,  and  the  wind  was  so  light 
that  from  time  to  time  he  urged  it  with  the 
oars.  He  did  not  see  the  two  girls  waiting  on 
the  bank  until  he  was  close  to  them,  for  the 
sun  was  in  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts  were 
busy.  His  father's  escape  from  jail  was 
worse  than  any  sorrow  yet ;  nobody  knew 
what  might  come  of  it.  Harry  felt  very  old 
and  careworn  for  a  boy  of  seventeen.  He  had 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  193 

determined  to  go  to  see  Miss  Barbara  Leices- 
ter that  evening,  and  to  talk  over  his  troubles 
with  her.  He  had  been  able  to  save  a  little 
money,  and  he  feared  that  it  might  be  de- 
manded. He  had  already  paid  off  the  smaller 
debts  that  were  owed  in  the  village  ;  but  he 
knew  his  father  too  well  not  to  be  afraid  of 
getting  some  menacing  letters  presently.  If 
his  father  had  only  fled  the  country  I  But  how 
could  that  be  done  without  money?  He  would 
not  work  his  passage ;  Harry  was  certain 
enough  of  that.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
let  him  have  the  money  and  go  to  the  farthest 
limit  to  which  it  could  carry  him  ? 

Something  made  the  young  man  shade  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  and  look  toward  the  shore ; 
then  he  took  the  oars  and  pulled  quickly  in. 
That  was  surely  his  sister  Nelly,  and  the  girl 
beside  her,  who  wore  a  grayish  dress  with  a 
white  blouse  waist,  was  Betty  Leicester.  It 
was  just  like  kind-hearted  little  Betty  to  have 
teased  poor  Nelly  out  into  the  woods.  He 
would  carry  them  home  in  his  boat ;  he  could 
rub  it  clean  with  some  handfuls  of  hemlock 
twigs  or  river  grass.  Then  he  saw  how 
strangely  they  looked,  as  he  pushed  the  boat 


194  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

in  and  pulled  it  far  ashore.  What  in  the 
world  had  happened  ? 

Nelly  tried  to  speak  again  and  again,  but 
her  voice  could  not  make  itself  heard.  "  Oh, 
don't  cry  any  more,  Nelly,  dear,"  said  Betty, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  very  pale. 
"  We  went  into  the  old  house  up  there  by  the 
pasture,  and  found  —  Nelly  said  it  was  your 
father,  and  we  thought  he  was  very  ill." 

"  I  '11  take  you  both  home,  then,"  said  Harry 
Foster,  speaking  quickly  and  with  a  hard 
voice.  "Get  in,  both' of  you, — this  is  the 
shortest  way,  —  then  I  '11  come  back  by  my- 
self." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  sobbed  NeUy.  "  He  looked 
as  if  he  were  dying,  Harry ;  he  was  lying  on 
the  floor.  We  will  go,  too ;  he  could  n't 
hurt  us,  could  he  ?  "  And  the  three  turned 
back  into  the  woods.  Betty's  heart  almost 
failed  her.  She  felt  like  a  soldier  going  into 
battle.  Oh,  could  she  muster  bravery  enough 
to  go  into  that  house  again  ?  Yet  she .  loved 
her  father  so  much  that  doing  this  for  another 
girl's  father  was  a  great  comfort,  in  all  her 
fear. 

The  young  man  hurried  ahead  when  they 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  195 

came  near  the  house,  and  it  was  only  a  few 
minutes  before  he  reappeared. 

"  You  must  go  and  tell  mother  to  come  as 
quick  as  she  can,  and  hurry  to  find  the  doctor 
and  tell  him  ;  he  will  know  what  to  do.  Fa- 
ther has  been  dreadfully  hurt  somehow.  Per- 
haps Miss  Leicester  will  let  Jonathan  come 
to  help  us  get  him  home."  Harry  Foster's 
face  looked  old  and  strange ;  he  never  would 
seem  like  a  boy  any  more,  Betty  thought, 
with  a  heart  full  of  sympathy.  She  hurried 
away  with  Nelly ;  they  could  not  bring  help 
fast  enough. 

After  the  great  excitement  was  over,  Betty 
felt  very  tired  and  unhappy.  That  night  she 
could  be  comforted  only  by  Aunt  Barbara's 
taking  her  into  her  own  bed,  and  being  more 
affectionate  and  sympathetic  than  ever  before, 
even  talking  late,  like  a  girl,  about  the  Out-of- 
Door  Club  plans.  In  spite  of  this  attempt  to 
return  to  every -day  thoughts,  Betty  waked 
next  morning  to  much  annoyance  and  trouble. 
She  felt  as  if  the  sad  affairs  of  yesterday  re- 
lated only  to  the  poor  Fosters  and  herself,  but 
as  she  went  down  the  street,  early,  she  was 


196  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

stopped  and  questioned  by  eager  groups  of 
people  who  were  trying  to  find  out  something 
more  about  the  discovery  of  Mr.  Foster  in  the 
old  house.  It  proved  that  he  had  leaped  from 
a  high  window,  hurting  himself  badly  by  the 
fall,  when  he  made  his  escape  from  prison,  and 
that  he  had  been  wandering  in  the  woods  for 
days.  The  officers  had  come  at  once,  and 
there  was  a  group  of  men  outside  the  Fosters' 
house.  This  had  a  terrible  look  to  Betty. 
Everybody  said  that  the  doctor  believed  there 
was  only  a  slight  chance  for  Mr.  Foster's  life, 
and  that  they  were  not  going  to  try  to  take 
him  back  to  jail.  He  had  been  delirious  all 
night.  One  or  two  kindly  disposed  persons 
said  that  they  pitied  his  poor  family  more  than 
ever,  but  most  of  the  neighbors  insisted  that 
"  it  served  Foster  just  right."  Betty  did  her 
errand  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  hastily 
brushed  by  some  curious  friends  who  tried  to 
detain  her.  She  felt  as  if  it  were  unkind  and 
disloyal  to  speak  of  her  neighbor's  trouble 
to  everybody,  and  the  excitement  and  public 
concern  of  the  little  village  astonished  her 
very  much.  She  did  not  know,  until  then, 
how  the  joy  or  trouble  of  one  home  could 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  197 

affect  the  town  as  if  it  were  one  household. 
Everybody  spoke  very  kindly  to  her,  and  most 
people  called  her  "  Betty,"  and  seemed  to 
know  her  very  well,  whether  they  had  ever 
spoken  to  her  before  or  not.  The  women 
were  standing  at  their  front  doors  or  their 
gates,  to  hear  whatever  could  be  told,  and 
our  friend  looked  down  the  long  street  and 
felt  that  it  was  like  running  the  gauntlet  to  get 
home  again.  Just  then  she  met  the  doctor, 
looking  gray  and  troubled,  as  if  he  had  been 
awake  all  night,  but  when  he  saw  Betty  his 
face  brightened. 

"  Well  done,  my  little  lady,"  he  said,  in  a 
cheerful  voice,  which  made  her  feel  steady 
again,  and  then  he  put  his  hand  on  Betty's 
shoulder  and  looked  at  her  very  kindly. 

"  Oh,  doctor !  may  I  walk  along  with  you  a 
little  way?"  she  faltered.  "  Everybody  asks 
me  to  tell  "  — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  the 
doctor  ;  and  he  turned  and  took  Betty's  hand 
as  if  she  were  a  child,  and  they  walked  away 
together.  It  was  well  known  in  Tideshead 
that  Dr.  Prince  did  not  like  to  be  questioned 
about  his  patients. 


198  BETTT  LEICESTER. 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  I  ought  to  go  to 
see  Nelly,"  said  Betty,  as  they  came  near  the 
house.  "  I  have  n't  seen  her  since  I  came 
home  with  her  yesterday.  I  —  did  n't  quite 
dare  to  go  in  as  I  came  by." 

"  Wait  until  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  said  the 
doctor.  "The  poor  man  will  be  gone  then, 
and  you  will  be  a  greater  comfort.  Go  over 
through  the  garden.  You  can  climb  the 
fences,  I  dare  say,"  and  he  looked  at  Betty 
with  a  queer  little  smile.  Perhaps  he  had 
seen  her  sometimes  crossing  the  fields  with 
Mary  Beck. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  is  going  to  die  to- 
day ?  "  asked  Betty,  with  great  awe.  "  Ought 
I  to  go  then  ?  " 

"  Love  may  go  where  common  kindness  is 
shut  out,"  said  Dr.  Prince.  "  You  have  done 
a  great  deal  to  make  those  poor  children  happy, 
this  summer.  They  had  been  treated  in  a  very 
narrow-minded  way.  It  was  not  like  Tides- 
head,  I  must  say,"  he  added,  "  but  people  are 
shy  sometimes,  and  Mrs.  Foster  herself  could 
not  bear  to  see  the  pity  in  her  neighbors'  faces. 
It  will  be  easier  for  her  now." 

**  I  keep  thinking,  what  if  it  were  my  own 


A  GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  199 

papa?"  said  Betty  softly.  "He  couldn't  be 
so  wicked,  but  he  might  be  ill,  and  I  not  there." 

"  Dear  me,  no !  "  said  the  doctor  heartily, 
and  giving  Betty's  hand  a  tight  grasp  and  a 
little  swing  to  and  fro.  "  I  suppose  he 's  hav- 
ing a  capital  good  time  up  among  his  glaciers. 
I  wish  that  I  were  with  him  for  a  month's 
holiday ; "  and  at  this  Betty  was  quite  cheerful 
again. 

Now  they  stopped  at  Betty's  own  gate.  "  You 
must  take  your  Aunt  Mary  in  hand  a  little, 
before  you  go  away.  There  's  nothing  serious 
the  matter  now,  only  lack  of  exercise  and 
thinking  too  much  about  herself." 

"  She  did  come  to  my  tea-party  in  the  gar- 
den," responded  Betty,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  and 
I  think  sometimes  she  almost  gets  enough 
courage  to  go  to  walk.  She  did  n't  sleep  at 
all  last  night,  Serena  said  this  morning." 

"  You  see,  she  does  n't  need  sleep,"  explained 
Dr.  Prince,  quite  professionally.  "  We  are 
all  made  to  run  about  the  world  and  to  work. 
Your  aunt  is  always  making  blood  and  muscle 
with  such  a  good  appetite,  and  then  she  never 
uses  them,  and  nature  is  clever  at  revenges. 
Let  her  hunt  the  fields,  as  you  do,  and  she 


200  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

would  sleep  like  a  top.  I  call  it  a  disease  of 
too-wellness,  and  I  only  know  how  to  doctor 
sick  people.  Now  there  's  a  lesson  for  you  to 
reflect  upon,"  and  the  busy  doctor  went  hur- 
rying back  to  where  he  had  left  his  horse 
standing,  when  he  first  caught  sight  of  Betty's 
white  and  anxious  face. 

As  she  entered  the  house  Aunt  Barbara  was 
just  coming  out.  "  I  am  going  to  see  poor 
Mrs.  Foster,  my  dear,  or  to  ask  for  her  at  the 
door,"  she  said,  and  Serena  and  Letty  and  Jon- 
athan all  came  forward  to  ask  whether  Betty 
knew  any  later  news.  Seth  Pond  had  been 
loitering  up  the  street  most  of  the  morning, 
with  feelings  of  great  excitement,  but  he  pres- 
ently came  back  with  instructions  from  Aunt 
Barbara  to  weed  the  long  box-borders  behind 
the  house,  which  he  somewhat  unwillingly 
obeyed. 

A  few  days  later  the  excitement  was  at  an 
end,  the  sad  funeral  was  over,  and  on  Sunday 
the  Fosters  were  at  church  in  their  appealing 
black  clothes.  Everybody  had  been  as  kind 
as  they  knew  how  to  be,  but  there  were  no 
faces  so  welcome  to  the  sad  family  as  our  little 
Betty's  and  the  doctor's. 


A    GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  201 

"  It  comes  of  simply  following  her  instinct 
to  be  kind  and  do  right,"  said  the  doctor  to 
Aunt  Barbara,  next  day.  "  The  child  does  n't 
think  twice  about  it,  as  most  of  us  do.  We 
Tideshead  people  are  terribly  afraid  of  one 
another,  and  have  to  go  through  just  so  much 
before  we  can  take  the  next  step.  There  's  no 
way  to  get  right  things  done  but  to  simply  do 
them.  But  it  is  n't  so  much  what  your  Betty 
does  as  what  she  is." 

"  She  has  grown  into  my  old  heart,"  said 
Aunt  Barbara.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of 
her  going  away  and  taking  the  sunshine  with 
her  !  —  and  yet  she  has  her  faults,  of  course," 
added  the  sensible  old  lady. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way  !  "  said  Dr.  Prince,  turn- 
ing back.  "  My  wife  told  me  to  ask  you  to 
come  over  to  tea  to-night  and  bring  the  little 
girl ;  I  nearly  forgot  to  give  the  message." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  come,"  answered 
Miss  Leicester,  and  the  doctor  nodded  and 
went  his  busy  way.  Betty  was  very  fond  of 
going  to  drive  with  him,  and  he  looked  about 
the  neighborhood  as  he  drove  along,  hoping  to 
catch  sight  of  her ;  but  Betty  was  at  that  mo- 
ment deeply  engaged  in  helping  Letty  shell 


202  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

some  peas  for  dinner,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  in  the  garden  doorway  of  the  kitchen. 
She  had  spent  an  hour  before  that  with  Mrs. 
Beck,  while  they  tried  together  with  more  or 
less  success  to  trim  a  new  sailor  hat  for  Mary 
Beck  like  one  of  Betty's  own.  Mrs.  Beck  was 
as  friendly  as  possible  in  these  days,  but  when- 
ever the  Fosters  were  mentioned  her  face  grew 
dark.  She  did  not  like  Mrs.  Foster  ;  she  did 
not  exactly  blame  her  for  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, but  she  did  not  pity  her  either,  or  feel  a 
true  compassion  for  such  a  troubled  neighbor. 
Betty  never  could  understand  it.  At  any  rate, 
she  had  been  saved  by  her  unsettled  life  from 
taking  a  great  interest  in  her  own  or  other 
people's  dislikes. 

That  evening,  just  as  the  tea-party  was  in 
full  progress,  somebody  came  for  Dr.  Prince ; 
and  when  he  returned  from  his  study  he  an- 
nounced that  he  must  go  at  once  down  the 
river  road  to  see  one  of  his  patients  who  was 
worse.  Perhaps  he  saw  an  eager  look  in 
Betty's  eyes,  for  he  asked  gravely  if  Miss 
Leicester  had  a  niece  to  lend,  it  being  a  moon- 
light evening  and  not  too  long  a  drive.  Aunt 
Barbara  made  no  objection,  and  our  friend 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  203 

went  skipping  off  to  the  doctor's  stable  in  high 
glee. 

"  Oh,  that 's  nice !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  'm 
so  glad  that  you  're  going  to  take  Pepper ;  she 's 
such  a  dear  little  horse." 

"Pepper  is  getting  old,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  but  she  really  likes  to  go  out  in  the  evening. 
You  can  see  how  fast  she  will  scurry  home. 
Get  me  a  whip  from  the  rack,  will  you,  child? 
I  am  anxious  to  be  off." 

Mrs.  Prince  and  Aunt  Barbara  were  busy 
talking  in  the  parlor,  and  were  taking  great 
pleasure  in  their  social  occasion,  but  Betty  was 
so  glad  that  she  need  not  stay  to  listen,  instead 
of  going  down  the  town  street  and  out  among 
the  quiet  farms  behind  brisk  old  Pepper.  The 
wise,  kind  doctor  at  her  side  was  silent  as  he 
thought  about  his  patient,  yet  he  felt  much 
pleasure  in  Betty's  companionship.  They  could 
smell  the  new  marsh  hay  and  hear  the  tree- 
toads  ;  it  was  a  most  beautiful  summer  night. 
Betty  felt  very  grateful  and  happy,  she  did  not 
exactly  know  why ;  it  was  not  altogether  the 
effect  of  Mrs.  Prince's  tea  and  cakes,  or  even 
because  she  was  driving  with  the  doctor,  but 
the  restlessness  and  uncertainty  that  make  so 


204  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

great  a  part  of  a  girl's  life  seemed  to  have 
gone  away  out  of  her  heart.  Instead  of  the 
excitement  there  was  a  pleasant  quietness  and 
sense  of  security,  no  matter  what  might  be  go- 
ing to  happen. 

Presently  the  doctor  appeared  to  have 
thought  enough  about  his  patient.  "You 
don't  feel  chilly,  do  you  ? "  he  asked  kindly. 
"  I  find  it  damp  and  cold,  sometimes,  after  a 
hot  day,  crossing  this  low  land." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  'm  as  warm  as  toast,"  answered 
Betty.  "  Whom  are  you  going  to  see,  Dr. 
Prince?  Old  Mr.  Duff?" 

"  No,  he  is  out-of-doors  again.  I  saw  him 
in  the  hayfield  this  morning.  You  haven't 
been  keeping  up  "with  my  practice  as  well  as 
usual,  of  late,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing  a 
little.  "  I  am  going  to  see  a  girl  about  your 
own  age.  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  going  to  lose 
her,  too." 

"  Is  it  that  pretty  Lizzie  Edwards  who  sits 
behind  the  Becks'  pew  ?  I  heard  that  she  had 
a  fever.  I  saw  her  the  last  Sunday  that  she 
was  at  church."  Betty's  heart  was  filled  with 
dismay,  and  the  doctor  did  not  speak  again. 
They  were  near  the  house  now,  and  could  see 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  205 

some  lights  flitting  about ;  and  as  they  stopped 
the  sick  girl's  father  stole  silently  from  behind 
the  bushes  and  began  to  fasten  the  horse,  so 
that  Dr.  Prince  could  go  in  directly.  Betty 
could  hear  the  ominous  word  "  sinking"  as 
they  whispered  together ;  then  she  was  left 
alone.  It  seemed  so  sad  that  this  other  girl 
should  be  near  the  door  of  death,  and  so  close 
to  the  great  change  that  must  come  to  every 
one.  Betty  had  never  known  so  direct  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  inevitableness  of  death,  but 
she  was  full  of  life  herself,  and  so  eager  and 
ready  for  whatever  might  be  coming.  What 
if  this  other  girl  had  felt  so,  too  ?  She  watched 
the  upper  windows  where  the  dim  light  shone, 
and  now  and  then  a  shadow  crossed  the  cur- 
tain. Everything  out-of-doors  was  quiet  and 
sweet ;  the  moon  went  higher  and  higher,  and 
the  wind  rustled  among  the  apple-trees.  Some 
white  petunias  in  a  little  plot  near  by  looked 
strangely  white,  and  Betty  thought  that  per- 
haps the  other  girl  had  planted  them,  and 
there  they  were  growing  on.  Now  she  was 
going  to  die.  Betty  wondered  what  it  would 
be  like,  and  if  the  other  girl  knew,  and  if  she 
minded  so  very  much.  After  a  few  minutes 


206  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

she  found  herself  saying  an  eager  prayer  that 
the  doctor  might  still  cure  her,  and  keep  her 
alive.  If  she  must  die,  Betty  hoped  that  she 
herself  might  do  some  of  the  things  that  Lizzie 
Edwards  would  have  done,  and  take  her  place. 
When  old  people  had  to  go,  who  had  done  all 
they  wished  to  do,  and  got  tired,  and  could  not 
help  thinking  about  having  a  new  life,  that  was 
one  thing ;  but  to  go  now  and  leave  all  your 
hopes  and  plans  behind,  —  indeed,  it  seemed 
too  hard.  But  Betty  had  a  sense  of  the  differ- 
ence between  what  things  could  be  helped  and 
what  were  in  God's  hands,  and  when  she  had 
said  her  prayer  she  waited  again  hopefully  for 
a  long  time  in  the  moonlight. 

At  last  there  seemed  to  be  more  movement 
in  the  house  and  she  could  hear  voices ;  then 
she  heard  somebody  sobbing,  and  the  light  in 
the  upper  room  went  quickly  out. 

The  doctor  came  after  a  few  minutes  more, 
which  seemed  very  long  and  miserable.  Pep- 
per had  fallen  asleep,  good  old  horse  !  and 
Betty  did  not  dare  to  ask  any  questions. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  surpris- 
ingly cheerful  voice,  "  I  forgot  all  about  you, 
Miss  Betty  Leicester.  I  hope  that  you  're  not 


A   GREAT  EXCITEMENT.  207 

cold  this  time,  and  I  don't  know  what  the 
aunts  will  have  to  say  about  us ;  it  is  nearly 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  I  'm  not  cold,  but  I  did  get  frightened," 
acknowledged  Betty  faintly ;  then  she  felt  sur- 
prisingly light-hearted.  Dr.  Prince  could  not 
be  in  such  good  spirits  if  he  had  just  seen 
his  poor  young  patient  die  ! 

"  We  got  here  just  in  time,"  he  said,  tuck- 
ing the  light  blanket  closer  about  Betty. 
"  We  've  pulled  the  child  through,  but  she  was 
almost  gone  when  I  first  saw  her ;  there  was 
just  a  spark  of  life  left,  —  a  spark  of  life,"  re- 
peated the  doctor. 

44  Who  was  it  crying  ?  "  Betty  asked. 

44  The  mother,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  had 
just  told  her  that  she  was  going  to  keep  the 
little  girl.  Why,  here  's  a  good  sound  sassa- 
fras lozenge  in  my  pocket.  Now  we'll  have 
a  handsome  entertainment." 

Betty,  who  had  just  felt  as  if  she  were  going 
to  cry  for  nobody  knew  how  long,  began  to 
laugh  instead,  as  Dr.  Prince  broke  his  unex- 
pected lozenge  into  honest  halves  and  presented 
her  solemnly  with  one  of  them.  There  was 
never  such  a  good  sassafras  lozenge  before  or 


208  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

since,  and  Pepper  trotted  steadily  home  to  her 
stall  and  the  last  end  of  her  supper.  "  Only 
think,  if  the  doctor  hadn't  known  just  what 
to  do,"  said  Betty  later  to  Aunt  Barbara,  "  and 
how  he  goes  all  the  time  to  people's  houses  ! 
Every  day  we  see  him  going  by  to  do  things  to 
help  people.  This  might  have  been  a  freezing, 
blowing  night,  and  he  would  have  gone  just 
the  same." 

"  Dear  child,  run  up  to  your  bed  now,"  said 
Aunt  Barbara,  kissing  her  good  -  night ;  for 
Betty  was  very  wide  awake,  and  still  had  so 
many  things  to  say.  She  never  would  forget 
that  drive  at  night.  She  had  been  taught  a 
great  lesson  of  the  good  doctor's  helpfulness, 
but  Aunt  Barbara  had  learned  it  long  ago. 


XIV. 

THE   OUT-OF-DOOR  CLtTB. 

THE  Out-of-Door  Club  in  Tideshead  was  slow 
in  getting  under  way,  but  it  was  a  great  success 
at  last.  Its  first  expedition  was  to  the  Pick- 
nell  farm,  to  see  the  place  where  there  had 
been  a  great  battle  with  the  French  and  In- 
dians,  in  old  times,  and  the  relics  of  a  beaver- 
dam  were  to  be  inspected  besides.  Mr.  Pick- 
nell  came  to  talk  about  the  plan  with  Miss 
Barbara  Leicester,  who  was  going  to  drive  out 
to  the  farm  in  the  afternoon,  and  then  walk 
back  with  the  club,  as  besought  by  Betty. 
She  was  highly  pleased  with  the  eagerness  of 
her  young  neighbors,  who  had  discovered  in 
her  an  unsuspected  sympathy  and  good-fel- 
lowship at  the  time  of  Betty's  June  tea-party. 
It  had  been  a  pity  to  make  believe  old  in  all 
these  late  years,  and  to  become  more  and  more 
a  stranger  to  the  young  people.  Perhaps,  if 
the  club  proved  a  success,  it  would  be  a  good 


210  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

thing  to  have  winter  meetings  too,  and  read 
together. 

Somehow  Miss  Barbara  had  never  before 
known  exactly  what  to  do  for  the  young  folks. 
She  could  have  a  little  supper  for  them  in  the 
evening,  and  ask  them  to  come  and  read  with 
her ;  or  perhaps  she  might  propose  to  read 
some  good  story  to  them,  and  some  poetry. 
They  ought  to  know  something  of  the  great 
poets.  Miss  Mary  Leicester  was  taken  up 
with  the  important  business  of  her  own  inva- 
lidism,  but  it  might  be  a  very  good  thing  for 
her  to  take  some  part  in  such  pleasant  plans. 
Under  all  Aunt  Barbara's  shyness  and  habit 
of  formality  Betty  had  discovered  her  warm 
and  generous  heart.  They  had  become  fast 
friends,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  Aunt  Mary  was 
beginning  to  have  an  uneasy  and  wistful  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  causing  herself  to  be 
left  out  of  many  pleasures. 

The  gloom  and  general  concern  at  the  time 
of  the  Fosters'  sorrow  had  caused  the  first 
club  meeting  to  be  postponed  until  early  in 
August ;  and  then,  though  August  weather 
would  not  seem  so  good  for  out-of-door  expedi- 
tions, this  one  Wednesday  dawned  like  a  cool, 


THE  OUT-OF-DOOR   CLUB.  211 

clear  June  day,  and  at  three  o'clock  the  fresh 
easterly  wind  had  not  ceased  to  blow  and  yet 
had  not  brought  in  any  seaward  clouds.  There 
were  eleven  boys  and  girls,  and  Miss  Barbara 
Leicester  made  twelve,  while  with  the  two 
Picknells  the  club  counted  fourteen.  The 
Fosters  promised  to  come  later  in  the  sum- 
mer, but  they  did  not  feel  in  the  least  hurt 
because  some  of  their  friends  urged  them  to 
join  in  cheerful  company  this  very  day.  It 
seemed  to  Betty  as  if  Nelly  looked  brighter 
and  somehow  unafraid,  now  that  the  first 
miserable  weeks  had  gone.  It  may  have  been 
that  poor  Nelly  was  lighter-hearted  already 
than  she  often  had  been  in  her  father's  life- 
time. 

Betty  and  Mary  Beck  walked  together,  at 
first ;  but  George  Max  asked  Mary  to  walk 
with  him,  so  they  parted.  Betty  liked  Harry 
Foster  better  than  any  other  of  the  boys,  and 
really  missed  him  to-day.  She  was  brimful 
of  plans  about  persuading  her  father  to  help 
Harry  to  study  natural  history.  While  the 
club  was  getting  ready  to  walk  two  by  two, 
Betty  suddenly  remembered  that  she  was  an 
odd  one,  and  hastily  took  her  place  between  the 


212  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Grants,  insisting  that  they  three  must  lead  the 
procession.  The  timid  Grants  were  full  of 
fun  that  day,  for  a  wonder,  and  a  merry  head 
to  the  procession  they  were  with  Betty,  walk- 
ing fast  and  walking  slowly,  and  leading  the 
way  by  short  cuts  across-country  with  great 
spirit.  They  called  a  halt  to  pick  huckleber- 
ries, and  they  dared  the  club  to  cross  a  wide 
brook  on  insecure  stepping-stones.  Everybody 
made  fun  for  everybody  else  whenever  they 
saw  an  opportunity,  and  when  they  reached 
the  Picknell  farm,  quite  warm  and  excited, 
they  were  announced  politely  by  George  Max 
as  "  the  Out-of-Breath  Club."  The  shy  Pick- 
nells  wore  their  best  white  Sunday  dresses, 
and  the  long  white  farm-house  with  its  gam- 
brel  roof  seemed  a  delightfully  shady  place  as 
the  club  sat  still  a  while  to  cool  and  rest  itself 
and  drink  some  lemonade.  Mrs.  Picknell  was 
a  thin,  bright-eyed  little  woman,  who  had  the 
reputation  of  being  the  best  housekeeper  in 
town.  She  was  particularly  kind  to  Betty 
Leicester,  who  was  after  all  no  more  a  stran- 
ger to  her  than  were  some  of  the  others  who 
came.  It  was  lovely  to  see  that  Mrs.  Picknell 
and  Julia  were  so  proud  of  Mary's  gift  for 


THE   OUT-OF-DOOR   CLUB.  213 

drawing,  and  evidently  managed  that  she 
should  have  time  for  it.  Mary  had  begun  to 
go  to  Kiverport  every  week  for  a  lesson. 

"  She  heard  that  Mr.  Clinturn,  the  famous 
artist,  was  spending  the  summer  there,  and 
started  out  by  herself  one  day  to  ask  him  to 
give  her  lessons,"  Mrs.  Picknell  told  Betty 
proudly.  "  He  said  at  first  that  he  could  n't 
spare  the  time ;  but  I  had  asked  Mary  to  take 
two  or  three  of  her  sketches  with  her,  and 
when  he  saw  them  he  said  that  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  help  her  all  that  he  could." 

"  I  do  think  this  picture  of  the  old  packet- 
boat  coming  up  the  river  is  the  prettiest  of  all. 
Oh,  here  's  Aunt  Barbara ;  do  come  and  see 
this,  Aunty ! "  said  Betty,  with  great  enthu- 
siasm. "  It  makes  me  think  of  the  afternoon 
I  came  to  you." 

Miss  Leicester  took  out  her  eyeglasses  and 
looked  as  she  was  bidden.  "  It  is  a  charming 
little  water-color,"  she  said,  with  delighted  sur- 
prise. "Did  you  really  teach  yourself  until 
this  summer  ?  " 

"  I  only  had  my  play  paint-box  until  last 
winter,"  said  Mary  Picknell.  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  like  it,  Miss  Leicester ; "  for  Miss  Loices- 


214  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

ter  had  many  really  beautiful  pictures  of  her 
own,  and  her  praise  was  worth  having. 

Then  Mr.  Picknell  took  his  stick  from  be- 
hind the  door,  and  led  the  company  of  guests 
out  across  the  fields  to  a  sloping  rough  piece 
of  pasture  land,  with  a  noisy  brook  at  the 
bottom,  where  a  terrible  battle  had  been  fought 
in  the  old  French  and  Indian  war.  He  read 
them  an  account  of  it  from  Mr.  Parkman's 
history,  and  told  all  the  neighborhood  traditions 
of  the  frightened  settlers,  and  burnt  houses, 
and  murdered  children  and  very  old  people, 
and  the  terrible  march  of  a  few  captives 
through  the  winter  woods  to  Canada.  How 
his  own  great-great  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother were  driven  away  from  home,  and  each 
believed  the  other  dead  for  three  years,  until 
the  man  escaped,  and  then  went,  hearing  that 
his  wife  was  alive,  to  buy  her  freedom.  They 
came  to  the  farm  again,  and  were  buried  in  the 
old  burying-lot,  side  by  side. 

"  There  was  a  part  of  the  story  which  you 
left  out,"  Mrs.  Picknell  said.  "  When  they 
killed  the  little  baby,  the  Indians  told  its  poor 
mother  not  to  cry  about  it  or  they  would  kill 
her  too;  and  when  her  tears  would  fall,  a 


THE  OUT-OF-DOOR   CLUB.  21$ 

kind-hearted  squaw  was  quick  enough  to  throw 
some  water  in  the  poor  woman's  face,  so  that 
the  men  only  laughed  and  thought  it  was  a 
taunt,  and  not  done  to  hide  tears  at  all." 

"  I  have  not  heard  these  old  town  stories 
for  years.  We  ought  to  thank  you  heartily," 
said  Miss  Barbara,  when  the  battle-ground 
had  been  shown  and  the  club  had  heard  all 
the  interesting  things  that  were  known  about 
the  great  fight.  Then  they  came  back  by  way 
of  the  old  family  burying-place  and  read  the 
quaint  epitaphs,  which  Mr.  Picknell  himself 
had  cut  deeper  and  kept  from  wearing  away. 
It  seemed  that  they  never  could  forget  the  old 
farm's  history. 

"  I  maintain  that  every  old  place  in  town 
ought  to  have  its  history  kept,"  said  Mr.  Pick- 
nell. "  Now,  you  boys  and  girls,  what  do  you 
know  about  the  places  where  you  live  ?  Why 
don't  you  make  town  clerks  of  yourselves  ? 
Take  the  edges  of  almanacs,  if  you  can't  get 
courage  to  begin  a  blank-book,  and  make  notes 
of  things,  so  that  dates  will  be  kept  for  those 
who  come  after  you.  Most  of  you  live  where 
your  great-grandfathers  did,  and  you  ought  to 
know  about  the  old  folks.  Most  of  what  I  Ve 


216  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

kept  alive  about  this  old  farm  I  learned  from 
my  great-grandmother,  who  lived  to  be  a  very 
old  woman,  and  liked  to  tell  me  stories  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  when  I  was  a  boy.  Now 
we  '11  go  and  see  where  the  beavers  used  to 
build,  down  here  where  the  salt  water  makes 
up  into  the  outlet  of  the  brook.  Plenty  of 
their  logs  lay  there  moss-covered,  when  I  was 
a  grown  man." 

Somehow  the  getting  acquainted  with  each 
other  in  a  new  way  was  the  best  part  of  the 
club,  after  all.  It  was  quite  another  thing 
from  even  sitting  side  by  side  in  school,  to 
walk  these  two  or  three  miles  together.  Betty 
Leicester  had  taught  her  Tideshead  cronies 
something  of  her  own  lucky  secret  of  taking 
and  making  the  pleasures  that  were  close  at 
hand.  It  was  great  good  fortune  to  get  hold 
of  a  common  wealth  of  interest  and  association 
by  means  of  the  club  ;  and  as  Mr.  Picknell 
and  Miss  Leicester  talked  about  the  founders 
and  pioneers  of  the  earliest  Tideshead  farms, 
there  was  not  a  boy  nor  girl  who  did  not  have 
a  sense  of  pride  in  belonging  to  so  valiant  an 
old  town.  They  could  plan  a  dozen  expedi- 
tions to  places  of  historic  interest.  There  had 


THE   OUT-OF-DOOR   CLUB.  217 

been  even  witches  in  Tideshead,  and  soldiers 
and  scholars  to  find  out  about  and  remember. 
There  was  no  better  way  of  learning  American 
history  (as  Miss  Leicester  said)  than  to  study 
thoroughly  the  history  of  a  single  New  Eng- 
land village.  As  for  newer  towns  in  the 
West,  they  were  all  children  of  some  earlier 
settlements,  and  nobody  could  tell  how  far 
back  a  little  careful  study  would  lead. 

There  was  time  for  a  good  game  of  tennis 
after  the  stories  were  told,  and  the  play  was 
watched  with  great  excitement,  but  some  of 
the  club  girls  strayed  about  the  old  house, 
part  of  which  had  been  a  garrison-house.  The 
doors  stood  open,  and  the  sunshine  fell  pleas- 
antly across  the  floors  of  the  old  rooms.  Usu- 
ally they  meant  to  go  picnicking,  but  to-day 
the  Picknells  had  asked  their  friends  to  tea, 
and  a  delicious  country  supper  it  was.  Then 
they  all  sang,  and  Mary  Beck's  clear  voice, 
as  usual,  led  all  the  rest.  It  was  seven  o'clock 
before  the  party  was  over.  The  evening  was 
cooler  than  August  evenings  usually  are,  and 
after  many  leave-takings  the  club  set  off  afoot 
toward  the  town. 

"What  a  good  time!  '  said  Betty  to  the 


218  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Grants  and  Aunt  Barbara,  for  she  had  claimed 
one  Grant  and  let  Aunt  Barbara  walk  with 
the  other ;  and  everybody  said  "  AVhat  a  good 
time ! "  at  least  twice,  as  they  walked  down 
the  lane  to  the  road.  There  they  stopped  for 
a  minute  to  sing  another  verse  of  "  Good- 
night, ladies,"  and  indeed  went  away  sing- 
ing along  the  road,  until  at  last  the  steep- 
ness of  the  hill  made  them  quiet.  The  Pick- 
nells,  in  their  doorway,  listened  as  long  as 
they  could. 

At  the  top  of  the  long  hill  the  club  stopped 
for  a  minute,  and  kept  very  still  to  hear  the 
hermit-thrushes  singing,  and  did  not  notice  at 
first  that  three  persons  were  coming  toward 
them,  a  tall  man  and  a  boy  and  girl.  Sud- 
denly Betty's  heart  gave  a  great  beat.  The 
taller  figure  was  swinging  a  stick  to  and  fro, 
in  a  way  that  she  knew  well ;  the  boy  was 
Harry  Foster,  and  the  girl  was  Nelly.  Surely 
—  but  the  other  ?  Oh,  ?/es,  it  was  papa ! 
"  Oh,  papa  !  "  and  Betty  gave  a  strange  little 
laugh  and  flew  before  the  rest  of  the  club, 
who  were  still  walking  slowly  and  sedately, 
and  threw  herself  into  her  father's  arms.  Then 
Miss  Leicester  hurried,  too,  and  the  rest  of 


THE  OUT-OF-DOOR   CLUB.  219 

the  club  broke  ranks,  and  felt  for  a  minute  as 
if  their  peace  of  mind  was  troubled. 

But  Betty's  papa  was  equal  to  this  emer- 
gency. "  This  must  be  Becky,  but  how 
grown  !  "  he  said  to  Mary  Beck,  holding  out 
his  hand  cordially;  "and  George  Max,  and 
the  Grants,  and  —  Frank  Crane,  is  it  ?  I  used 
to  play  with  your  father ;  "  and  so  Mr.  Leices- 
ter, pioneered  by  Betty,  shook  hands  with 
everybody  and  was  made  most  welcome. 

"You  see  that  I  know  you  all  very  well 
through  Betty !  So  nobody  believed  that  I 
could  come  on  the  next  train  after  my  letter, 
and  get  here  almost  as  soon  ?  "  he  said,  holding 
Betty's  hand  tighter  than  ever,  and  looking  at 
her  as  if  he  wished  to  kiss  her  again.  He  did 
kiss  her  again,  it  being  his  own  Betty.  They 
were  very  fond  of  each  other,  these  two ;  but 
some  of  their  friends  agreed  with  Aunt  Bar- 
bara, who  always  said  that  her  nephew  was 
much  too  young  to  have  the  responsibility  of 
so  tall  a  girl  as  Betty  Leicester. 

Nobody  noticed  that  Harry  and  Nelly  Foster 
were  there  too,  in  the  first  moment  of  excite- 
ment, and  so  the  first  awkwardness  of  taking 
up  every-day  life  again  with  their  friends  was 


220  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

passed  over  easily.  As  for  our  Betty,  she  fairly 
danced  along  the  road  as  they  went  homeward, 
and  could  not  bear  to  let  go  her  hold  of  her 
father's  hand.  It  was  even  more  dear  and 
delightful  than  she  had  dreamed  to  have  him 
back  again. 


XV. 

THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN. 

THERE  was  a  most  joyful  evening  in  the  old 
Leicester  house.  Everybody  forgot  to  speak 
about  Betty's  going  to  bed,  and  even  Aunt 
Mary  was  in  high  spirits.  It  was  wonderful 
how  much  good  a  little  excitement  did  for 
her,  and  Betty  had  learned  that  an  effort  to 
be  entertaining  always  brought  the  pleasant 
reward  of  saving  Aunt  Mary  from  a  misera- 
ble, tedious  morning  or  afternoon.  When  she 
waked  next  morning,  her  first  thought  was 
about  papa,  and  her  next  that  Aunt  Mary  was 
likely  to  have  a  headache  after  sitting  up  so 
late.  Betty  herself  was  tired,  and  felt  as  if  it 
were  the  day  after  the  fair ;  but  when  she  hur- 
ried down  to  breakfast  she  found  Aunt  Bar- 
bara alone,  and  was  told  that  papa  had  risen 
at  four  o'clock,  and,  as  she  expressed  it  to 
Aunt  Mary  a  little  later,  stolen  his  breakfast 
from  Serena  and  gone  down  to  Riverport  on 


222  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

the  packet,  the  tide  having  served  at  that 
early  hour. 

"  I  heard  a  clacketing  in  the  kitchen  closet," 
said  Serena,  "  and  I  iust  got  my  skirt  an'  a 
cape  on  to  me  an'  flew  down  to  see  what 't  was. 
I  expected  somebody  was  took  with  fits;  an' 
there  was  y'r  father  with  both  his  hands  full 
o'  somethin'  he  'd  collected  to  stay  himself 
with,  an'  he  looked  's  much  o'  a  boy 's  ever 
he  did,  and  I  so  remarked,  an'  he  told  me 
he  was  goin'  to  Riverport.  'Want  a  little 
change,  I  s'pose  ? '  says  I,  an'  he  laughed  good 
an'  clipped  it  out  o'  the  door  and  down  towards 
the  landin'." 

"  I  wonder  what  he 's  after  now,  Serena  ?  " 
said  Betty  sagely,  but  Serena  shook  her  head 
absently.  It  was  evident  to  Betty's  mind  that 
papa  had  shaken  off  all  thought  of  care,  and 
was  taking  steps  towards  some  desired  form 
of  enjoyment.  He  had  been  disappointed  the 
evening  before  to  find  that  there  were  hardly 
any  boats  to  be  had.  Very  likely  he  meant  to 
bring  one  up  on  the  packet  that  afternoon ;  but 
Betty  was  disappointed  not  to  find  him  in  the 
house,  and  thought  that  he  might  have  called 
her  to  go  down  on  the  packet  with  him.  She 


TEE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         223 

felt  as  if  she  were  going  to  have  a  long  and 
dull  morning. 

However,  she  found  that  Aunt  Mary  was 
awake  and  in  a  cheerful  frame,  so  she  brought 
her  boots  in,  and  sat  by  the  garden  window 
while  she  put  some  new  buttons  on  with  the 
delightful  little  clamps  that  save  so  many  diffi- 
cult stitches.  Aunt  Mary  was  already  dressed, 
though  it  was  only  nine  o'clock,  and  was  seated 
before  an  open  bureau  drawer,  which  her 
grandniece  had  learned  to  recognize  as  a  good 
sign.  Aunt  Mary  had  endless  treasures  o£ 
the  past  carefully  tucked  away  in  little  bun- 
dles and  boxes,  and  she  liked  to  look  these 
over,  and  to  show  them  to  Betty,  and  tell 
their  history.  She  listened  with  great  eager- 
ness to  Betty's  account  of  papa's  departure. 

"  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  feel  tired  this 
morning,"  said  the  girl,  turning  a  bright  face 
toward  her  aunt. 

"  I  am  sure  I  expected  it  myself,"  replied 
Aunt  Mary  plaintively,  "  but  it  is  n't  neural- 
gia weather,  perhaps.  At  any  rate,  I  am  none 
the  worse." 

"  I  believe  that  a  good  frolic  is  the  very  best 
thing  for  you,"  insisted  Betty,  feeling  very 


224  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

bold  ;  but  Aunt  Mary  received  this  news  amia- 
bly, though  she  made  no  reply.  Betty  had  re- 
covered by  this  time  from  her  sense  of  bitter 
wrong  at  her  father's  departure,  and  after  she 
had  talked  with  Aunt  Mary  a  little  while  about 
the  grand  success  of  the  Out-of-Door  Club,  she 
went  her  ways  to  find  Becky. 

Becky  was  in  a  very  friendly  mood,  and  ad- 
mired Mr.  Leicester,  and  wondered  too  at  ever 
having  been  afraid  of  him  in  other  years,  when 
she  used  to  see  him  walking  sedately  down  the 
street. 

"  Papa  is  very  sober  sometimes  when  he  is 
hard  at  work,"  explained  Betty  with  eagerness. 
"  He  gets  very  tired,  and  then  —  oh,  I  don't 
mean  that  papa  is  ever  aggravating,  but  for 
days  and  days  I  know  that  he  is  working  hard 
and  can't  stop  to  hear  about  my  troubles,  so  I 
try  not  to  talk  to  him ;  but  he  always  makes  up 
for  it  after  a  while.  I  don't  mind  now,  but 
when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  first  went  away 
from  here  I  used  to  be  lonely,  and  even  cry 
sometimes,  and  of  course  I  did  n't  understand. 
We  get  on  beautifully  now,  and  I  like  to  read 
so  much  that  I  can  always  cover  up  the  dull 
times  with  a  nice  book." 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         225 

"  Do  they  last  long,  —  the  dull  times  ? " 
asked  Mary  Beck  in  an  unusually  sympathetic 
voice.  Betty  had  spoken  sadly,  and  it  dawned 
upon  her  friend's  mind  that  life  was  not  all  a 
holiday  even  to  Betty  Leicester. 

"  Ever  so  long,"  answered  Betty  briskly ; 
"  but  you  see  I  have  my  mending  and  house- 
keeping when  we  are  in  lodgings.  We  are 
masters  of  the  situation  now,  papa  always  says ; 
but  when  I  was  too  small  to  look  after  him, 
we  used  to  have  to  depend  upon  old  lodging- 
house  women,  and  they  made  us  miserable, 
though  I  love  them  all  for  the  sake  of  the  good 
ones  who  will  let  you  go  into  the  kitchen  your- 
self and  make  a  cup  of  tea  for  papa  just  right, 
and  be  honest  and  good,  and  cry  when  you  go 
away  instead  of  slamming  the  door.  Oh,  I 
could  tell  you  stories,  Mary  Eliza  Beck  !  "  and 
Betty  took  one  or  two  frisky  steps  along  the 
sidewalk  as  if  she  meant  to  dance.  Mary 
Beck  felt  as  if  she  were  looking  out  of  a  very 
small  and  high  garret  window  at  a  vast  and 
surprising  world.  She  was  not  sure  that  she 
should  not  like  to  keep  house  in  country  lodg- 
ings, though,  and  order  the  dinner,  and  have 
a  housekeeping  purse,  as  Betty  had  done  these 


226  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

three  or  four  years.  They  had  often  talked 
about  these  experiences ;  but  Becky's  heart 
always  faltered  when  she  thought  of  being 
alone  in  strange  houses  and  walking  alone  in 
strange  streets.  Sometimes  Betty  had  delight- 
ful visits,  and  excellent  town  lodgings,  and 
diversified  hotel  life  of  the  most  entertaining 
sort.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  about  all 
this  and  reflecting  upon  it  deeply.  "  I  wish 
that  papa  and  I  were  going  to  be  here  a  year," 
she  said.  "  I  love  Tideshead." 

Mr.  Leicester  did  not  wait  to  come  back 
with  the  packet  boat,  but  appeared  by  the 
stage  from  the  railway  station  in  good  season 
for  dinner.  He  was  very  hungry,  and  looked 
well  satisfied  with  his  morning's  work,  and  he 
told  Betty  that  she  should  know  toward  the 
end  of  the  afternoon  the  reason  of  his  going  to 
Riverport,  so  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  wait.  She  was  disappointed,  because  she 
had  fancied  that  he  meant  to  bring  home  a 
new  row-boat ;  perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  made 
some  arrangements  about  it.  Why,  yes!  it 
might  be  coming  up  by  the  packet,  and  they 
would  go  out  together  that  very  evening. 
Betty  could  hardly  wait  for  the  hour  to  come. 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         227 

When  dinner  was  over,  papa  was  enticed  up 
to  see  the  cubby-house,  while  the  aunts  took 
their  nap.  There  was  a  little  roast  pig  for  din- 
ner, and  Aunt  Barbara  had  been  disappointed 
to  find  that  her  guest  had  gone  away,  as  it  was 
his  favorite  dinner ;  but  his  unexpected  return 
made  up  for  everything,  and  they  had  a  great 
deal  of  good  fun.  Papa  was  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  and  went  out  to  speak  to  Serena  about 
the  batter  pudding  as  soon  as  Aunt  Barbara 
rose  from  her  chair. 

"  Now  don't  you  tell  me  you  don't  get 
them  batter  puddings  a  sight  better  in  the 
dwellings  of  the  rich  and  great,"  insisted 
Serena,  with  great  complacency.  "Setting 
down  to  feast  with  lords  and  dukes,  same 's 
you  do,  you  must  eat  of  the  best  the  year 
round.  We  do  season  the  sauce  well,  I  will 
allow.  Miss  Barbara,  she  always  thinks  it 
may  need  a  drop  more." 

"  Serena,"  said  Betty's  father  solemnly, . "  I 
assure  you  that  I  have  eaten  a  slice  of  bacon 
between  two  tough  pieces  of  hard  tack  for  my 
dinner  many  a  day  this  summer,  and  I  have  n't 
had  such  a  batter  pudding  since  the  last  one 
you  made  yourself." 


228  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  they  're  goin'  out  o'  fash- 
ion," said  Serena,  much  shocked.  "  I  know 
some  ain't  got  the  knack  o'  makin'  'em." 

Betty  stood  by,  enjoying  the  conversation. 
Serena  always  said  proudly  that  a  great  light 
of  intellect  would  have  been  lost  to  the  world 
if  she  had  not  rescued  Mr.  Leicester  from  the 
duck-pond  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  they  were 
indeed  the  best  of  friends.  Serena's  heart  re- 
joiced when  anybody  praised  her  cooking,  and 
she  turned  away  now  toward  the  pantry  with 
a  beaming  smile,  while  the  father  and  daughter 
went  up  to  the  garret. 

It  was  hot  there  at  this  time  of  day ;  still 
the  great  elms  outside  kept  the  sun  from  shin- 
ing directly  on  the  roof,  and  a  light  breeze 
was  blowing  in  at  the  dormer  window. 

Mr.  Leicester  sat  down  in  the  high-backed 
wooden  rocking-chair,  and  looked  about  the 
quaint  little  place  with  evident  pleasure.  Betty 
was  perched  on  the  window-sill.  She  had 
looked  forward  eagerly  to  this  moment. 

"  There  is  my  old  butterfly  -  net,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "and  my  minerals,  and  —  why,  all 
the  old  traps !  Where  did  you  find  them  ?  I 
remember  that  once  I  came  up  here  and  found 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         229 

everything  cleared  away  but  the  gun,  —  they 
were  afraid  to  touch  that." 

"  I  looked  in  the  boxes  under  the  eaves,"  ex- 
plained Betty.  "Your  little  Fourth  of  July 
cannon  is  there  in  the  dark  corner.  I  had  it 
out  at  first,  but  Becky  tumbled  over  it  three 
times,  and  once  Aunt  Mary  heard  the  noise 
and  had  a  palpitation  of  the  heart,  so  I  pushed 
it  back  again  out  of  the  way.  I  did  so  wish 
that  you  were  here  to  fire  it.  I  had  almost 
forgotten  what  fun  the  Fourth  is.  I  wrote  you 
all  about  it,  didn't  I?" 

"  Some  day  we  will  come  to  Tideshead  and 
have  a  great  celebration,  to  make  up  for  losing 
that,"  said  papa.  "  Betty,  my  child,  I  'm  sleepy. 
I  don't  know  whether  it  is  this  rocking-chair 
or  Serena's  dinner." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  getting  up  so  early  in  the 
morning,"  suggested  Betty.  "  Go  to  sleep, 
papa.  I'll  say  some  of  my  new  pieces  of  po- 
etry. I  learned  all  you  gave  me,  and  some 
others  beside." 

"  Not  the  '  Scholar  Gypsy,'  I  suppose  ?  " 

«  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Betty.  "  The  last  of 
it  was  hard,  but  all  those  verses  about  the 
fields  are  lovely,  and  make  me  remember  that 


230  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

spring  when  we  lived  in  Oxford.  That  was 
the  only  long  one  you  gave  me.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  can  say  it  without  the  book.  I  always 
play  that  I  am  in  the  4  high  field  corner ' 
looking  down  at  the  meadows,  and  I  can  re- 
member the  first  pages  beautifully." 

Papa's  eyes  were  already  shut,  and  by  the 
time  Betty  had  said 

"  All  the  live  murmur  of  a  summer's  day  " 

she  found  that  he  was  fast  asleep.  She  stole 
a  glance  at  him  now  and  then,  and  a  little 
pang  went  through  her  heart  as  she  saw  that 
his  hair  was  really  growing  gray.  Aunt  Mary 
and  Aunt  Barbara  appeared  to  believe  that  he 
was  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  but  to  Betty 
thirty-nine  years  was  a  long  lifetime,  and  in- 
deed her  father  had  achieved  much  more  than 
most  men  of  his  age.  She  was  afraid  of  wak- 
ing him  and  kept  very  still,  so  that  a  sparrow 
lit  on  the  window-sill  and  looked  at  her  a  mo- 
ment or  two  before  he  flew  away  again.  She 
could  even  hear  the  pigeons  walking  on  the 
roof  overhead  and  hopping  on  the  shingles, 
with  a  tap,  from  the  little  fence  that  went 
about  the  house-top.  When  Mr.  Leicester 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         231 

waked  he  still  wished  to  hear  the  "  Scholar 
Gypsy,"  which  was  accordingly  begun  again, 
and  repeated  with  only  two  or  three  stops. 
Sometimes  they  said  a  verse  together,  and 
then  they  fell  to  talking  about  some  of  the  peo- 
ple whom  they  both  loved  in  Oxford,  and  had 
a  delightful  hour  together.  At  first  Betty  had 
not  liked  to  learn  long  poems,  and  thought  her 
father  was  stern  and  inconsiderate  in  choosing 
such  old  and  sober  ones ;  but  she  was  already 
beginning  to  see  a  reason  for  it,  and  was  glad, 
if  for  nothing  else,  to  know  the  poems  papa 
himself  liked  best,  even  if  she  did  not  wholly 
understand  them.  It  was  easy  now  to  remem- 
ber a  new  one,  for  she  had  learned  so  many. 
Aunt  Barbara  was  much  pleased  with  this 
accomplishment,  for  she  had  learned  a  great 
many  herself  in  her  lifetime.  It  seemed  to 
be  an  old  custom  in  the  Leicester  family,  and 
Betty  thought  one  day  that  she  could  let  this 
gift  stand  in  the  place  of  singing  as  Becky 
could ;  one's  own  friends  were  not  apt  to  care 
so  much  for  poetry,  but  older  people  liked  to 
be  "  repeated  "  to.  One  night,  however,  she 
had  said  Tennyson's  ballad  of  "  The  Revenge  " 
to  Harry  Foster  and  Nelly  as  they  came  up  the 
river,  and  they  liked  it  surprisingly. 


232  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Papa  reached  for  the  old  guitar  presently 
and  after  mending  the  broken  strings  he 
began  to  sing  a  delightful  little  Italian  song, 
a  great  favorite  of  Betty's.  Then  there  was 
a  step  on  the  stairs,  Aunt  Barbara's  dignified 
head  appeared  behind  the  railing,  and  they 
called  her  to  come  up  and  join  them. 

"  I  felt  as  if  there  must  be  ghosts  walking 
"n  daylight  when  I  heard  the  old  guitar,"  she 
said  a  little  wistfully.  When  she  was  seated 
in  the  rocking-chair  and  Betty's  father  had 
pulled  forward  a  flowered  tea-chest  for  him- 
self, he  went  on  with  his  singing,  and  then 
played  a  Spanish  dancing  tune,  with  a  nod  to 
Betty,  so  that  she  skipped  at  once  to  the  open 
garret-floor  and  took  the  pretty  steps  with 
much  gayety.  Aunt  Barbara  smiled  and  kept 
time  with  her  foot ;  then  she  left  the  prim 
rocking-chair  and  began  to  follow  the  dance 
too,  soberly  chasing  Betty  and  receding  and 
even  twirling  her  about,  until  they  were  both 
out  of  breath  and  came  back  to  their  places 
very  warm  and  excited.  They  looked  strangely 
alike  as  they  danced.  Betty  was  almost  as 
tall  and  only  a  little  more  quick  and  graceful 
than  her  grandatmt. 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         233 

"  It  is  such  fun  to  be  just  the  same  age  as 
you  and  papa,"  insisted  Betty.  "We  do 
everything  together  now."  She  took  on  a 
pretty  grown-up  air,  and  looked  at  Aunt  Bar- 
bara admiringly.  It  was  only  this  summer 
that  she  had  begun  to  understand  how  young 
grown  people  really  are.  Aunt  Mary  seemed 
much  older  because  she  had  stopped  doing  so 
many  pleasant  things.  This  garret  dance  was 
a  thing  to  remember.  Betty  liked  Aunt  Bar- 
bara better  every  day,  but  it  had  never  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  knew  that  particular 
Spanish  dance.  An  army  officer's  wife  had 
taught  it  to  Betty  and  some  of  her  friends  the 
summer  she  was  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Becky 
had  been  brought  up  to  be  very  doubtful 
about  dancing,  which  was  a  great  pity,  for  she 
was  apt  to  be  stiff  and  awkward  when  she 
walked  or  tried  to  move  about  in  the  room. 
Somehow  she  moved  her  feet  as  if  they  had 
been  made  too  heavy  for  her,  but  she  learned 
a  good  deal  from  trying  to  keep  step  as  she 
walked  with  Betty,  who  was  naturally  light- 
footed. 

Mr.  Leicester  put  down  the  guitar  at  last, 
and  said  that  he  had  an  errand  to  do,  and 
that  Betty  had  better  come  along. 


234  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Can't  you  sit  still  five  minutes,  either  of 
you  ?  "  maliciously  asked  Aunt  Barbara,  who 
had  quite  regained  her  breath.  "I  really 
did  not  know  how  cozy  this  corner  was.  I 
must  say  that  I  had  forgot  to  associate  it  with 
anything  but  Serena's  and  my  putting  away 
blankets  in  the  spring.  I  used  to  like  to  sit 
by  the  window  and  read  when  I  was  your  age, 
Betty.  In  those  days  I  could  look  over  this 
nearest  elm  and  see  way  down  the  river,  just 
as  you  can  now  in  winter  when  the  leaves  are 
gone.  I  dare  say  the  three  generations  before 
me  have  played  here  too.  I  am  so  glad  that 
we  could  have  Betty  this  summer ;  it  is  time 
she  began  to  strike  her  roots  a  little  deeper 
here." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Leicester,  "  but  I  can't  do 
without  her,  my  only  Betsey ! "  and  they  all 
laughed,  but  Betty  had  a  sudden  suspicion 
that  Aunt  Barbara  would  try  to  keep  her  alto- 
gether now.  This  frightened  our  friend  a 
little,  for  though  she  loved  the  old  home 
dearly,  she  must  take  care  of  papa.  It  was 
her  place  to  take  care  of  him  now ;  she  had 
been  looking  over  his  damaged  wardrobe  most 
anxiously  that  morning,  as  if  her  own  had 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.        235 

never  known  ruin.  His  outside  clothes  were 
well  enough,  but  alas  for  his  pocket  hand- 
kerchiefs and  stockings !  He  looked  a  little 
pale,  too,  and  as  if  he  had  on  the  whole  been 
badly  neglected  in  minor  ways. 

But  there  never  was  a  more  cheerful  and 
contented  papa,  as  they  walked  toward  the 
river  together  hand-in-hand,  in  the  fashion  of 
Betty's  childhood.  They  found  that  the  packet 
had  come  in,  and  there  was  a  group  of  spec- 
tators on  the  old  wharf,  who  were  looking 
eagerly  at  something  which  proved  to  be  a 
large  cat-boat  which  the  packet  had  in  tow. 
Mr.  Leicester  left  Betty  suddenly  and  went  to 
the  wharf's  edge. 

"  Did  you  have  any  trouble  bringing  her 
up  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bless  ye,  no,  sir,"  said  the  packet's  skip- 
per ;  "  did  n't  hinder  us  one  grain  ;  had  a  clever 
little  breeze  right  astern  all  the  way  up." 

"Look  here,  Betty,"  said  papa,  returning 
presently.  "I  went  down  this  morning  to 
hunt  for  a  dory  with  a  sail,  and  I  saw  this  cat- 
boat  which  somebody  was  willing  to  let,  and  I 
have  hired  it  for  a  while.  I  wish  to  look  up 
the  river  shell-fish  a  bit ;  it 's  not  altogether 
play,  I  mean  you  to  understand." 


236  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  cried  Betty  joyfully.  "  The 
only  thing  we  needed  was  a  nice  boat.  But 
you  can't  have  clutters  in  pots  and  pans  at 
Aunt  Barbara's,  can  you,  and  your  works  go- 
ing on  ?  Serena  won't  like  it,  and  she  can  be 
quite  terrible,  you  know  !  " 

"  Come  on  board  and  look  at  her,"  said 
Mr.  Leicester,  regardless  of  the  terrors  of 
Serena's  disapproval.  The  cat  -  boat  carried 
a  jib  beside  a  good-sized  mainsail,  and  had  a 
comfortable  little  cabin  with  a  tiny  stove  and 
two  berths  and  plenty  of  lockers.  Two  young 
men  had  just  spent  their  vacation  in  her,  coast- 
ing eastward,  and  one  of  them  told  Mr.  Leices- 
ter that  she  was  the  quickest  and  steadiest 
boat  he  ever  saw,  sailing  close  to  the  wind  and 
answering  her  rudder  capitally.  They  had 
lived  on  board  altogether  and  made  themselves 
very  comfortable  indeed.  There  was  a  light 
little  flat-bottomed  boat  for  tender,  and  the 
white  cat-boat  itself  had  been  newly  painted 
with  gilt  lettering  across  the  stern,  Starlight, 
Riverport. 

"  I  can  ask  the  Out-of-Door  Club  one  day 
next  week,"  announced  Betty,  with  great  en- 
thusiasm. "  Is  n't  she  clean  and  pretty  ? 
Won't  Aunt  Barbara  like  her,  papa?" 


THE  STARLIGHT  COMES  IN.         237 

"  I  must  look  about  for  some  one  to  help  me 
to  sail  her,"  said  Mr.  Leicester,  with  uncom- 
mon gravity.  "  What  do  you  think  of  young 
Foster  ?  He  must  know  the  river  well,  and  his 
fishing  may  be  falling  off  a  little  now.  It 
would  be  a  good  way  to  help  him,  don't  you 
think  so?" 

Betty's  eyes  shone  with  joy.  "  Oh,  yes," 
she  said ;  "  they  do  have  such  a  hard  time  now. 
Nelly  told  me  so  yesterday  morning.  It  has 
cost  them  so  much  lately.  Harry  has  been 
trying  to  get  something  to  do  in  Riverport." 

They  were  busy  anchoring  the  Starlight  out 
in  the  stream,  and  now  Mr.  Leicester  helped 
Betty  over  the  side  into  the  tender  and  sculled 
her  ashore.  Some  of  the  men  on  the  wharf 
had  disappeared,  but  others  were  still  there, 
and  there  was  a  great  bustle  of  unloading 
some  bags  of  grain  from  the  packet.  Mr. 
Leicester  invited  one  of  his  old  acquaintances 
who  asked  many  questions  to  come  out  and 
see  the  cat-boat,  and  as  Betty  hurried  up  the 
street  to  the  house  she  saw  over  her  shoulder 
that  a  large  company  in  small  leaky  crafts 
had  surrounded  the  pretty  Starlight  like  pi- 
rates. It  was  apt  to  be  very  dull  in  Tides- 


238  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

head  for  many  of  the  idle  citizens,  and  Mr. 
Leicester's  return  was  always  hailed  with  de- 
light. It  was  nearly  tea-time,  so  that  Betty 
could  not  go  over  to  tell  Mary  Beck  the  good 
news;  but  one  white  handkerchief,  meaning 
Come  over,  was  quickly  displayed  on  the  pear- 
tree  branch,  and  while  Betty  was  getting 
dressed  in  a  much-needed  fresh  gown  for  tea 
Becky  kindly  appeared,  and  was  delighted 
with  the  good  news.  She  had  seen  the  Star- 
light already  from  a  distance. 

"  My  father  used  to  have  a  splendid  sail- 
boat," said  fatherless  Becky  with  much  wist- 
f  ulness,  and  Betty  put  her  arms  round  her  and 
gave  her  a  warm  kiss.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
that  whatever  one  had  the  other  lacked. 


XVI. 

DOWN  THE  RIVER. 

THERE  was  a  great  stirring  about  and  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  kitchen  doors  early  the 
next  morning  but  one.  Betty  had  been  anx- 
ious the  day  before  to  set  forth  on  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  a  long  cruise  in  the  Star- 
light, but  Mr.  Leicester  said  that  he  must 
give  up  the  morning  to  his  letters,  and  after 
that  came  a  long  business  talk  with  Aunt  Bar- 
bara in  the  library,  where  she  sat  before  her 
capacious  secretary  and  produced  some  neat 
packages  of  papers  from  a  little  red  morocco 
trunk  which  Betty  had  never  seen  before.  To 
say  truth,  Aunt  Barbara  was  a  famous  business 
woman  and  quite  the  superior  of  her  nephew 
in  financial  matters,  but  she  deferred  to  him 
meekly,  and  in  fact  gained  some  long-desired 
information  about  a  northwestern  city  in 
which  Mr.  Leicester  had  lately  been  obliged 
to  linger  for  two  or  three  days. 


240  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

It  was  a  day  of  clear  hot  sunshine  and  light 
breeze,  not  in  the  least  a  good  day  for  sailing; 
but  Betty  was  just  as  much  disappointed  to 
be  kept  at  home  as  if  it  had  been,  and  after 
breakfast  she  loitered  about  in  idleness,  with 
a  look  of  dark  disapproval,  until  papa  sud- 
denly faced  about  and  held  her  before  him 
by  her  two  shoulders,  looking  gravely  into  her 
eyes,  which  fell  at  once. 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Betty,"  he  said  quietly ; 
"we  shall  play  all  the  better  if  we  don't 
forget  our  work.  AVhat  is  there  to  do  first  ? 
Where  's  <  Things  to  be  Done '  ?  " 

Betty  dipped  into  her  pocket  and  pulled  out 
a  bit  of  paper  with  the  above  heading,  and 
held  it  up  to  him.  Papa's  eyes  began  to 
twinkle  and  she  felt  her  cheeks  grow  red,  but 
good  humor  was  restored.  "  1.  Ask  Seth  to 
sharpen  my  knife.  2.  Find  Aunt  Mary's  old 
4  Evenings  at  Home '  and  read  her  the  Trans- 
migrations of  Indur.  3.  Find  out  what  '  hedon- 
ism '  means  in  the  dictionary.  4.  Sew  on  papa's 
buttons." 

"  Those  were  all  the  things  I  could  think 
of  last  night,"  explained  Betty  apologetically, 
"  I  was  so  sleepy." 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  241 

"  It  strikes  me  that  the  most  important  duty 
happened  to  be  set  down  last,"  said  Mr.  Leices- 
ter, beginning  to  laugh.  "If  you  will  look 
after  the  buttons,  I  will  tell  you  the  meaning  of 
'  hedonism '  and  sharpen  the  jack-knife,  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  won't  read  the  Transmigra- 
tions to  Aunt  Mary  beside,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times.  I  know  where  those  little  old  brown 
books  are,  too,  unless  they  have  been  moved 
from  their  old  places.  I  am  willing  to  make 
a  good  offer,  for  I  have  hardly  a  button  to  my 
back,  you  know.  And  this  evening  we  will 
have  a  row,  if  not  a  sail.  The  sky  looks  as 
if  the  wind  were  rising,  and  you  can  ask  Mary 
Beck  to  go  with  us  to-morrow  down  the  river, 
if  you  like.  I  am  going  to  see  young  Fos- 
ter the  first  time  I  go  down  the  street.  Now 
good-by  until  dinner-time,  dear  child." 

"  Good-by,  dear  papa  !  "  and  Betty  ran  up- 
stairs two  steps  at  a  time.  She  had  already 
looked  to  see  if  there  were  plenty  of  ink  in 
his  ink-bottle,  and  some  water  in  a  tiny  vase 
on  his  writing-table  for  the  quill  pens.  It  was 
almost  the  only  thing  she  had  done  that  morn- 
ing, but  it  was  one  of  her  special  cares  when 
they  were  together.  She  gathered  ap  armful  of 


242  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

his  clothes,  and  finding  that  Aunt  Mary  was 
in  a  hospitable  frame  went  into  her  room  for 
advice  and  society,  and  sat  busily  sewing  by 
the  favorite  cool  western  window  nearly  all  the 
morning. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  tide  was  high, 
Betty  and  Mr.  Leicester  went  out  for  a  little 
row  by  themselves,  floating  under  some  over- 
hanging oak-boughs  and  talking  about  things 
that  had  happened  when  they  were  apart. 

Now  we  come  back  to  where  we  began  this 
chapter,  —  the  early  morning  of  the  next  day, 
and  Serena's  and  Letty's  bustling  in  the  pan- 
try to  have  a  basket  of  luncheon  ready,  so  that 
the  boating  party  need  not  lose  the  tide  ;  the 
boating  party  itself  at  breakfast  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  Mary  Beck  in  a  transport  of  delight 
sitting  by  her  window  at  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  all  ready  to  rush  out  the  minute  she  saw 
Betty  appear.  As  for  Harry  Foster  and  Seth, 
they  had  already  gone  down  to  the  shore. 

On  the  wide  sofa  in  the  hall  was  a  funny  old- 
fashioned  leather  satchel  with  a  strong  strap- 
handle.  It  seemed  full  to  overflowing,  and 
beside  it  lay  a  warm  shawl  neatly  folded,  and, 
not  to  make  too  long  a  story,  Aunt  Barbara's 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  243 

third-best  bonnet  was  close  at  hand,  and  these 
were  her  provisions  for  spending  the  day  on 
the  river.  Mr.  Leicester  had  insisted  that  she 
should  go  with  them,  and  that  if  she  found  it 
tiresome  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  her 
coming  back  by  train  from  Riverport  in  the 
afternoon.  Aunt  Barbara  felt  as  if  she  were 
being  a  little  adventurous,  and  packed  her 
small  portmanteau  with  a  secret  foreboding 
that  she  might  be  kept  out  over  night ;  still  she 
had  always  been  very  fond  of  boating,  and  had 
seen  almost  none  of  it  for  many  years,  in  fact 
since  Betty's  father  had  been  at  home  some- 
times, in  his  college  vacations.  There  was  a 
fine  breeze  blowing  already  in  the  elms  and 
making  the  tall  hollyhocks  bow  in  the  garden, 
and  when  they  reached  the  wharf  and  put 
down  the  creaking  wicker  basket  on  the  very 
edge  the  tide  was  still  high,  and  Harry  Foster 
had  already  hoisted  the  Starlight's  sail  with 
one  careful  reef  in  it,  and  was  waiting  to  row 
them  out  two  at  a  time  in  the  tag-boat.  Nelly 
Foster  could  not  go,  as  she  and  her  mother 
were  very  busy  that  day,  but  Harry's  face 
looked  brighter  than  Betty  had  ever  seen  it, 
and  she  was  sure  that  papa  must  have  been 


244  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

very  good,  and,  to  use  a  favorite  phrase  of 
his,  opened  a  new  gate  for  him.  Mary  Beck 
was  strangely  full  of  fears,  considering  that 
she  was  the  granddaughter  of  a  brave  old 
sailor ;  but  after  she  was  out  of  the  unsteady 
smaller  boat,  and  had  been  decoyed  by  Betty 
to  the  bows  of  the  Starlight,  and  shown  how 
to  stow  herself  away  so  that  she  hindered 
neither  jib  nor  boom,  she  began  to  enjoy  her- 
self highly.  Aunt  Barbara  sat  under  her  every- 
day parasol,  looking  quite  elegant  and  unsea- 
worthy,  but  very  happy.  Harry  Foster  was 
steering  just  beside  her,  and  Mr.  Leicester, 
with  Seth's  assistance,  was  shaking  out  the 
reef ;  for  the  wind  was  quieter  just  now,  and 
they  wished  to  get  farther  down  river  as  soon 
as  possible,  since  here,  where  the  banks  were 
often  high  and  wooded  and  the  stream  narrow, 
it  was  gusty  and  uncertain  sailing  for  so  large 
a  boat.  They  slipped  down  fast  with  the 
wind  and  tide,  and  passed  the  packet,  which 
had  started  out  ahead  of  them.  She  carried 
an  unusual  number  of  passengers,  and  was 
loaded  deep  with  early  potatoes.  The  girls 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  and  the  men  on 
board  the  packet  gave  a  cheer,  while  Mr. 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  245 

Leicester  saluted  with  the  Starlight's  flag,  and 
it  was  altogether  a  ceremonious  occasion.  Seth 
said  that  he  "  guessed  folks  would  think  old 
Tideshead  was  waking  up."  Of  all  the  pleas- 
ure-boat's company  Seth  was  perhaps  the  best 
satisfied.  He  had  been  in  a  state  of  torture 
lest  he  might  not  be  asked  to  make  one  of  the 
crew,  and  it  being  divulged  that  although  of 
up-country  origin  he  had  once  gone  to  the 
Georges  Banks  fishing  with  a  seafaring  uncle, 
Mr.  Leicester  considerately  asked  for  his  ser- 
vices. Seth  had  put  on  the  great  rubber- 
boots  and  a  heavy  red  woolen  shirt  that  he 
wore  on  shipboard  in  March  weather.  He 
was  already  obliged  to  fan  himself  incessantly 
with  his  straw  hat,  as  they  were  running  before 
the  wind,  and  presently,  after  much  suffering, 
made  an  excuse  to  go  into  the  little  cabin, 
whence  he  reappeared,  much  abashed,  in  his 
stocking  feet  and  a  faded  calico  shirt,  which 
had  been  luckily  put  on  under  the  red  one. 
Aunt  Barbara  held  her  parasol  so  that  it  cov- 
ered her  face  for  a  few  minutes,  and  there  was 
a  considerate  silence,  until  Seth  mentioned 
that  he  "  had  thought  he  knew  before  what  it 
was  to  be  het  up,  but  you  never  knew  what 
kind  of  weather 't  was  to  be  on  the  water." 


246  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

At  the  next  bend  of  the  river  the  wind 
made  them  much  cooler,  while  the  boat  sailed 
even  better  than  before.  There  had  been 
plenty  of  rain,  so  that  the  shore  was  as  green 
as  in  June  and  the  old  farm-houses  looked  very 
pleasant.  Betty  had  not  been  so  far  down  as 
this  since  the  day  she  came  to  Tideshead,  and 
was  looking  eagerly  for  certain  places  that 
she  remembered.  Aunt  Barbara  and  papa 
were  talking  about  John  Paul  Jones  and  his 
famous  river  crew,  some  of  whom  Aunt  Bar- 
bara had  known  in  their  old  age,  while  she 
was  a  girl.  Harry  Foster  was  listening  with 
great  interest.  Betty  and  even  Becky  felt 
proud  of  Harry  as  he  steered,  looking  along 
the  river  with  quick,  sure  eyes.  They  did  not 
feel  so  familiar  with  him  as  usual ;  somehow, 
he  looked  a  good  deal  older  since  the  trouble 
about  his  father,  and  there  was  a  new  manli- 
ness and  dignity  about  him,  as  if  he  knew  that 
his  mother  and  Nelly  had  no  one  but  himself 
to  depend  upon.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  his 
early  burden  of  shame  and  sorrow  had  devel- 
oped a  strong  character  in  the  lad.  There  was 
none  of  the  listlessness  and  awkward  incapa- 
city and  self -admiration  that  made  some  of 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  247 

the  other  Tideshead  boys  so  unattractive,  but 
Harry  Foster  had  a  simple  way  of  speaking 
and  of  doing  whatever  had  to  be  done. 

There  was  a  group  of  wooden  pails  on  the 
boat,  and  a  queer  apparatus  for  dredging  which 
Mr.  Leicester  had  made  the  afternoon  before 
with  Seth's  and  Jonathan's  help.  They  had 
implored  a  flat-iron  from  Serena  for  one  of 
the  weights,  and  she  had  also  contributed  a 
tin  pail,  which  was  curiously  weighted  also 
with  small  pieces  of  iron,  so  that  it  would  sink 
in  a  particular  way.  It  was  believed  that  a 
certain  uncommon  little  creature  would  be 
found  in  the  flats  farther  down  the  river,  and 
Mr.  Leicester  told  the  ship's  company  cer- 
tain interesting  facts  about  its  life  and  behav- 
ior which  made  everybody  eager  to  join  the 
search.  "  I  have  been  meaning  to  hunt  for  it 
for  years,"  he  said.  "  Professor  Agassiz  told 
me  about  it  when  I  was  in  college  ;  but  then  he 
always  roused  one's  enthusiasm  as  no  one  else 
could,  and  made  whatever  he  was  interested 
in  seem  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  was  of 
very  first  importance."  Betty's  heart  glowed 
as  she  listened  ;  she  thought  the  same  thing  of 
papa.  "  He  was  such  an  inspirer  of  others  to 


248  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

do  good  work,"  said  Mr.  Leicester,  still  think- 
ing lovingly  of  his  great  teacher. 

Sometimes  the  river  was  narrow  and  deep 
and  the  Starlight's  course  lay  near  the  shore, 
so  that  the  children  came  running  down  to  the 
water's  edge  to  see  the  pretty  boat  go  by, 
and  envy  Betty  and  Mary  Beck  in  the  shadow 
of  her  great  white  sail.  Some  of  them  shouted 
Hollo !  and  the  two  girls  answered  again  and 
again,  until  the  little  voices  sounded  small  and 
piping  and  were  lost  in  the  distance.  Half- 
way to  Riverport,  where  the  houses  were  a  good 
way  from  any  village,  it  seemed  as  if  these  old 
homes  had  remained  the  same  for  many  years ; 
none  of  them  had  bay-windows,  and  the  paint 
was  worn  away  by  wind  and  weather.  It  was 
like  stepping  back  twenty  or  thirty  years  in 
the  rural  history.  Aunt  Barbara  said  that 
everything  looked  almost  exactly  the  same 
along  one  reach  of  the  river  as  it  did  when  she 
could  first  remember  it.  The  shores  were 
green  with  pines  and  ferns  and  gray  with 
ledges.  It  was  salt  water  here,  so  that  they 
could  smell  the  seaweed  and  the  woods,  and 
could  hear  the  song-sparrows  and  the  chil- 
dren's voices  as  they  passed  the  lonely  farm- 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  249 

houses  standing  high  and  fog-free  above  the 
water.  From  one  of  these  they  heard  the 
sound  of  women's  voices  singing. 

"  They  're  havin'  a  meetin'  in  there,  I  ex- 
pect," explained  Seth.  "Yes,  I  hear  'Liza 
Loomis's  voice  too.  You  know,  Miss  Leicester, 
she  used  to  live  up  to  Tideshead  and  sing  in 
the  Methodist  choir.  She  's  got  a  lovely  voice 
to  sing.  She  's  married  down  this  way.  They 
like  to  git  together  in  these  scattered  places, 
but 't  is  more  customary  up  where  I  come  from 
to  have  them  neighborhood  meetings  of  an 
afternoon."  Betty  watched  the  small  gray 
house  with  deep  interest,  and  thought  she 
should  like  to  go  in.  There  were  little  chil- 
dren playing  about  the  door,  as  if  they  had 
been  brought  and  left  outside  to  amuse  them- 
selves. It  was  very  touching  to  hear  the  old 
hymn  as  they  sailed  by,  and  Aunt  Barbara 
and  Betty's  father  looked  at  each  other  signifi- 
cantly as  they  listened.  "  Becky,  you  ought  to 
be  there  to  help  sing,"  Betty  whispered,  as 
they  sat  side  by  side,  but  Becky  thought  it  was 
very  stupid  to  be  having  a  prayer-meeting  that 
lovely  morning. 

Seth   Pond   had   celebrated  the  Fourth  of 


250  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

July  by  going  down  to  Riverport  on  the 
packet,  and  he  had  gathered  much  informa- 
tion about  the  river  which  he  was  glad  to  give 
now  for  everybody's  pleasure  and  enlighten- 
ment. 

"  There 's  a  bo't  layin'  up  in  that  cove  that 's 
drowned  two  men,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  There 
was  a  lady  with  'em,  but  she  was  saved.  I 
understand  they  'd  been  drinking  heavy." 

Betty  looked  at  the  boat  with  awe  where  it 
lay  with  the  stern  under  water  and  the  bows 
ashore  and  all  warped  apart.  "Isn't  she 
good  for  anything  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nobody  '11  ever  touch  Aer,"  said  Seth  con- 
temptuously, —  "  she  's  drowned  two  men." 

But  Miss  Leicester  smiled,  and  said  that  it 
appeared  to  have  been  their  own  fault. 

They  could  see  into  the  low  ruined  cabin 
from  the  deck  of  the  Starlight,  and,  after  they 
passed,  the  cabin  port-hole  seemed  to  watch 
them  like  an  eye  until  it  was  far  astern. 

"  I  suppose  she  will  lie  there  until  she 
breaks  up  in  a  high  tide,  and  then  the  women 
will  gather  her  wreck  wood  to  burn,"  said 
Mr.  Leicester,  watching  the  warped  mast ;  and 
Harry  Foster  said  that  no  fishermen  on  the 


.DOWN  THE  RIVER.  251 

river  would  ever  touch  a  boat  that  they  be- 
lieved to  be  unlucky.  Just  then  they  came 
round  a  point  and  passed  a  little  house  close 
by  the  water,  where  there  were  flakes  for  dry- 
ing fish  and  a  collection  of  little  weather-beaten 
boxes  shaped  like  roofs  which  were  used  to 
cover  the  fish  in  wet  weather.  Betty  thought 
they  looked  like  a  village  of  baby-houses.  At 
this  moment  a  woman  darted  out  of  the  house 
door,  screaming  to  some  one  inside,  "  I  've  lost 
Georgie  and  Idy  both ! "  and  off  the  anxious 
mother  hurried  along  the  steep  path  to  the 
fish  flakes,  as  if  that  were  where  she  usually 
found  the  runaways.  Presently  they  heard 
a  child's  shrill  voice,  and  a  pink  pinafore 
emerged  from  among  the  little  roofs.  Ida  was 
deposited  angrily  in  the  lane,  while  the  mother 
went  back  to  hunt  for  the  other  one.  It  was 
very  droll  to  see  and  hear  it  all  from  the  river, 
but  it  was  some  minutes  before  loud  shrieks 
announced  the  adventurous  Georgie's  capture. 
"  Georgie  must  ha'  been  hull  down  on  the 
horizon,"  remarked  Seth  blandly,  trying  to 
be  very  nautical,  and  everybody  laughed ;  but 
Betty  and  Mary  thought  the  woman  very 
cross,  when  it  was  such  a  pretty  place  to  play 


252  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

out  there  among  the  bayberry,  and  perhaps 
there  were  ripe  blackberries.  Harry  Foster 
said  that  children  did  mischief  in  pulling  off 
bits  of  the  dry  fish  and  spoiling  them  for  mar- 
ket ;  but  there  was  no  end  of  fish,  and  every- 
body felt  a  sympathy  for  "  Idy  and  Georgie 
both  "  in  their  sad  captivity. 

Before  long  the  houses  were  nearer  together, 
and  even  clustered  in  little  groups  close  by 
the  river,  and  sometimes  the  Starlight  passed 
some  schooners  going  up  or  down,  or  being 
laden  with  bricks  or  hay  or  firewood  at  small 
wharves.  Then  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
Riverport  steeples,  only  a  few  miles  below. 
The  wind  was  not  so  gusty  now  and  blew 
steadily,  but  it  was  very  light,  and  the  Starlight 
moved  slowly.  Harry  and  Seth  had  already 
hoisted  a  topsail,  and  while  Mr.  Leicester 
steered  Harry  came  and  stood  by  the  masts, 
looking  out  ahead  and  talking  with  the  two 
girls.  But  Harry  felt  responsible  for  the  boat, 
and  could  not  give  himself  up  to  pleasuring 
until,  as  he  said,  he  understood  the  tricks  and 
manners  of  the  Starlight  a  little  better.  It 
was  toward  noon,  now,  for  they  had  come 
slowly  the  last  third  of  the  way;  and  Mr. 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  253 

Leicester,  after  a  word  with  Aunt  Barbara, 
proposed  that  they  should  go  ashore  for  a 
while,  for  there  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  pine 
woods  close  at  hand,  and  the  flats  which  he 
was  going  to  investigate  were  also  within 
rowing  distance.  So  down  came  the  sails  and 
alongside  came  the  tag-boat;  and  Aunt  Bar- 
bara was  landed  first,  parasol  and  all,  and  the 
others  followed  her.  The  tide  was  running 
out  fast,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a  landing- 
place  along  the  muddy  shores.  Betty  thought 
the  Starlight  looked  much  smaller  from  the 
shore  than  she  seemed  when  they  were  on 
board.  Harry  and  Seth  made  everything  trig 
and  came  in  last,  leaving  the  cat-boat  at  anchor 
far  out. 

Even  after  the  joy  of  sailing  it  was  very 
pleasant  ashore  under  the  shady  pines,  and 
Mr.  Leicester  found  a  delightfully  comforta- 
ble place  for  Aunt  Barbara  to  sit  in,  while  the 
girls  were  near  by.  "What  an  interesting 
morning  we  have  had  !  "  Betty  heard  Aunt 
Barbara  say.  "  Sailing  down  the  river  brings 
to  mind  so  many  things  in  the  past.  The  be- 
ginnings of  history  in  this  part  of  the  country 
always  have  to  do  with  the  river.  I  wish  that 


'254  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

I  could  remember  all  the  stories  of  the  early 
settlements  that  I  used  to  hear  old  people  tell 
in  my  childhood." 

"  See  that  little  green  farm  in  the  middle  of 
the  sunburnt  pastures  across  the  river,"  said 
Mr.  Leicester,  who  had  been  looking  that  way 
intently.  "  Look,  Betty !  what  a  small  green 
spot  it  makes  with  its  orchard  and  fields 
among  the  woods  and  brown  pastures,  and  yet 
what  toil  has  been  spent  there  year  after 
year ! " 

Betty  looked  with  great  interest.  She  had 
seen  the  green  farm,  but  she  had  not  thought 
about  it,  and  neither  had  Mary  Beck,  who  could 
not  tell  why  she  kept  looking  that  way  again 
and  again,  and  somehow  could  not  help  thinking 
how  good  it  would  be  to  make  a  green  place 
like  that  by  one's  own  life  among  dull  and 
difficult  surroundings.  Betty  was  her  green 
place  ;  by  and  by  she  could  do  the  same  thing 
for  somebody  else,  perhaps. 

"  What  a  lovely  place  this  is !  "  said  Aunt 
Barbara,  still  enthusiastic.  "There  is  such 
sweet  air  here  among  the  pines,  and  I  delight 
in  the  wide  outlook  over  the  river.  I  begin 
to  feel  as  young  as  ever.  I  thought  that  I 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  255 

was  almost  too  old  to  enjoy  myself  any  more, 
last  winter.  It  is  such  a  mistake  to  let  one's 
self  make  great  things  out  of  little  ones,  as  I 
did,  and  carry  life  too  heavily,"  she  added. 

"  You  must  feel  ever  so  much  older  inside 
than  you  look  outside,"  said  Betty,  who  was  in 
famous  spirits. 

Mr.  Leicester  laughed  with  the  rest,  and 
then  looked  over  his  shoulder  with  a  droll  ex- 
pression, as  if  something  was  causing  him  great 
apprehension.  "Aunt  Barbara!"  he  began, 
and  then  hid  his  face  with  his  arm,  as  if  he 
were  about  to  be  well  whipped. 

"  What  mischief  now  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  have  played  you  a  trick :  you  are  not 
leaving  your  home  and  friends  for  one  day, 
but  for  two." 

Miss  Leicester  looked  puzzled. 

"  You  were  very  good  not  to  say  that  I  was 
foolish  to  carry  two  extra  sails." 

"  I  did  think  it  was  nonsense,  Tom,"  he  was 
promptly  assured,  "  but  then  I  remembered  that 
you  had  only  hired  the  boat,  and  thought  per- 
haps the  sails  went  with  it.  Of  course  they  take 
up  too  much  room  in  the  cabin.  You  can't 
mean  that  you  are  going  on  a,  longer  voyage  ?  " 


256  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

"  Tents ! "  shouted  Betty,  jumping  up  and 
dancing  about  in  great  excitement.  "  Tents  ! 
don't  you  see,  Aunt  Barbara  ?  and  we  're  going 
to  camp  out."  It  was  a  very  anxious  moment, 
for  if  Aunt  Barbara  said,  "  We  must  go  home 
to-night,"  there  would  be  nothing  to  do  but 
obey. 

"  But  your  Aunt  Mary  will  be  worried,  won't 
she?"  asked  Miss  Leicester,  whose  quick  wit 
suspected  a  deep-laid  plot.  She  was  already 
filled  with  a  spirit  of  adventure;  she  really 
looked  pleased,  but  was  not  without  a  sense  of 
responsibility. 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  explained 
Mr.  Leicester,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way ;  "  and 
there  was  no  need  of  telling  you  beforehand, 
so  that  you  would  make  your  will  and  pay 
your  taxes  and  get  in  all  the  winter  supplies 
and  have  the  minister  to  tea  before  you  started. 
Aunt  Mary  knows,  and  so  does  Serena ;  you 
will  see  that  Serena  contemplated  the  situation 
by  the  way  she  filled  these  big  baskets." 

"  I  saw  that  they  were  amused  with  some- 
thing that  I  did  n't  quite  understand.  And 
Mary  Beck's  mother  will  not  feel  anxious  ? " 
she  asked,  for  a  final  assurance.  "  I  never 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  257 

expected  to  turn  myself  into  a  wild  Indian  at 
my  age,  even  to  please  foolish  children  like 
you  and  Betty,  but  I  have  always  wished  that 
I  could  sleep  one  night  under  the  pine  woods." 

"  You  said  so  when  we  were  reading  Mr. 
Stevenson's  '  Travels  with  a  Donkey  '  aloud  to 
Aunt  Mary,"  Betty  stated  eagerly,  as  if  the 
others  would  find  it  hard  to  believe  her  grand- 
aunt.  Somehow,  a  stranger  would  have  found 
it  difficult  to  believe  that  Miss  Leicester  had 
unsatisfied  desires  about  gypsying. 

Mary  Beck  was  deeply  astonished  ;  she  had 
a  huge  admiration  for  her  dignified  neighbor 
across  the  way,  and  yet  it  was  always  a  little 
perilous  to  her  ease  of  mind  and  self-posses- 
sion to  find  herself  in  Miss  Leicester's  company. 
Many  a  time,  in  the  days  before  Betty  came 
to  Tideshead,  she  had  walked  to  and  fro  before 
the  old  house  hoping  to  be  spoken  to  or  called 
in  for  a  visit,  and  yet  was  too  shy  to  properly 
answer  a  kind  good-morning  when  they  met. 
Aunt  Barbara  used  to  think  that  Becky  was  a 
dull  girl,  but  they  were  already  better  friends^ 
It  took  a  long  time  to  rouse  Becky's  enthu- 
siasm, but  when  roused  it  burned  with  steady 
flame.  To  think  that  she  should  be  camping 
out  with  Miss  Leicester ! 


258  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

But  Mr.  Leicester  and  Betty  and  Becky 
were  soon  at  work  making  their  camp,  and  the 
novices  took  their  first  lesson  in  woodcraft. 
The  young  men,  Harry  Foster  and  Seth,  came 
ashore  bringing  the  tender  loaded  deep  with 
tents  and  blankets,  some  of  them  from  Jona- 
than's carefully  kept  chests  in  the  carriage- 
house,  and  Miss  Leicester  wondered  again  how 
anybody  had  contrived  to  get  so  many  things 
from  the  house  to  the  boat  without  her  knowl- 
edge. There  were  two  sharp  hatchets,  and 
presently  Seth  and  Harry  were  dispatched  to 
gather  some  dry  wood  for  the  fire,  though 
until  near  evening  the  tents  need  not  be  put 
up  nor  the  last  arrangements  made  for  sleep- 
ing. By  and  by  everybody  could  help  either 
to  cut  or  carry  hemlock  and  spruce  boughs 
for  the  beds. 

Betty  helped  her  father  to  roll  some  stones 
together  for  a  fireplace  just  at  the  edge  of  the 
river  beach,  and  pleased  him  very  much  by 
rolling  a  heavy  one  up  to  the  top  of  the  heap 
on  a  piece  of  board  which  had  washed  ashore, 
just  as  she  had  seen  farmers  do  in  building  a 
stone  wall.  Mary  Beck,  in  a  trepidation  of 
delight,  was  helping  Miss  Barbara  Leicester 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  259 

unpack  the  baskets,  to  see  what  should  be 
eaten  for  dinner  and  what  should  be  kept 
for  future  meals,  when  Mr.  Leicester  called 
them. 

"  Aunt  Barbara,"  he  proclaimed,  "  I  am 
not  going  to  let  you  keep  tent ;  you  only  know 
how  to  keep  house ;  and  beside,  you  must  n't 
do  what  you  always  do  at  home.  Let  the  girls 
manage  dinner  and  you  come  with  me,  now 
that  the  fire  is  started.  I  have  thought  of  an 
errand." 

Miss  Leicester  meekly  obeyed;  she  was 
ready  for  anything,  having  once  cast  off,  as 
she  said,  all  obligation  to  society,  and  with  a 
few  parting  charges  to  Betty  about  the  pro- 
visions she  disappeared  among  the  pines  with 
her  nephew. 

"  Is  n't  it  fun  ?  "  said  Mary  Beck,  and  she 
put  on  such  a  comical  face  when  Betty  sedately 
quoted, 

"What  is  that,  mother  ? 

A  lark,  my  child,' ' 

that  Betty  fell  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and 
Becky  caught  it,  and  they  were  gasping  for 
breath  before  they  could  stop.  "Oh,  think 
of  Aunt  Barbara  camping  out  and  setting 


260  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

herself  up  for  a  gypsy !  "  said  Betty.  "  This 
is  just  the  way  papa  does  now  and  then. 
I  always  told  you  so,  did  n't  I  ?  —  only  you 
never  know  when  to  watch  for  his  tricks.  He 
does  n't  always  catch  me  like  this,  I  can  tell 
you.  Think  of  Aunt  Barbara !  I  hope  the 
dear  thing  will  pass  a  good  night ;  she  is  n't 
a  bit  older  than  we  are  in  her  dear  heart. 
How  will  she  ever  have  the  face  to  walk  into 
church  so  grandly  Sunday  morning  !  "  and  so 
the  merry  girls  chattered  on,  while  they  spread 
the  cloth  and  Betty  put  a  decoration  of  leaves 
round  the  edge  and  a  handful  of  flowers  in 
the  middle.  "  You  have  such  a  way  of  pretti- 
fying things,"  said  Mary  Beck ;  "  there,  the 
chocolate  pot  is  beginning  to  boil  already." 

"  We  ought  to  have  some  fresh  water ;  it  is 
time  papa  came  back,"  said  Betty  anxiously ; 
and  just  then  appeared  papa  and  smiling  Aunt 
Barbara,  and  a  small  tin  pail  which  had  to  be 
borrowed  at  a  farm-house  half  a  mile  away 
because  it  was  forgotten. 

The  wind  blew  cool  across  the  river,  and 
more  and  more  boats  went  gliding  up  and 
down  in  the  channel,  though  the  tide  was  very 
low.  Everybody  was  hungrier  than  ever,  be- 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  261 

cause  the  sea  wind  is  famous  for  helping  on 
an  appetite,  and  the  hot  chocolate  was  none  too 
hot  after  all,  though  Aunt  Barbara's  bonnet 
was  hanging  on  a  branch  and  she  did  not  seem 
to  miss  the  shelter  of  it.  Becky  was  forced 
to  change  her  opinion  about  cooking ;  she  had 
always  disliked  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
it ;  it  seemed  to  her  a  thing  to  be  ignored  and 
concealed  in  polite  society,  and  yet  Betty  was 
openly  proud  of  having  had  a  few  cooking- 
school  lessons,  and  of  knowing  the  right  way 
to  do  things.  Becky  suddenly  began  to  parade 
her  own  knowledge,  and  found  herself  of  great 
use  to  the  party.  Instead  of  being  unwilling 
when  her  mother  asked  for  help  again,  she 
meant  to  learn  a  great  many  more  things.  She 
was  overjoyed  when  she  found  a  tin  box  of 
coffee,  and  remembered  that  Betty  had  said  it 
was  her  father's  chief  delight.  She  would 
make  a  good  cup  for  him  in  the  morning. 
Betty  was  always  saying  how  nice  it  was  to 
know  how  to  do  things.  She  never  expected 
to  like  to  wash  dinner  dishes,  but  the  time  had 
come,  though  a  hot  sun  was  somehow  pleas- 
anter  than  a  hot  stove,  and  it  had  been  a 
gypsy  dinner,  with  potatoes  in  the  ashes  and 


262  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

buns  toasted  on  a  hot  stone,  and  no  end  of 
good  things  beside. 

"  We  must  have  some  oysters  to  roast  for 
our  supper.  I  know  a  place  just  below  here 
where  they  are  very  salt  and  good,"  said  Mr. 
Leicester ;  "  and  one  of  you  young  men  might 
go  fishing,  and  bring  us  in  a  string  of  floun- 
ders, or  anything  you  can  get.  "We  have  break- 
fast to  look  out  for,  you  remember." 

'"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  Harry  Foster,  sailor  fash- 
ion, but  with  uncommon  heartiness.  Harry 
had  been  very  quiet  and  care-taking  on  the 
boat,  and  had  not  said  much,  either,  since  he 
came  ashore,  but  his  eyes  had  been  growing 
brighter,  and  as  Miss  Leicester  looked  up  at 
him  she  was  touched  at  the  change  in  his  face. 
How  boyish  and  almost  gay  he  was  again ! 
She  caught  his  eye,  and  gave  him  a  kind  re- 
assuring little  nod,  as  if  nobody  could  be  more 
pleased  to  have  him  happy  than  herself. 

The  Starlight  was  now  aground  in  the 
bright  green  river  grass  and  the  flats  were 
bare  for  a  long  distance  beyond,  so  that  there 
was  no  more  boating  for  the  present.  There 
were  plenty  of  comfortable  hollows  to  rest  in 
farther  back  on  the  soft  carpet  under  the 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  263 

pines,  and  so  the  dining-room  nearer  the  shore 
was  abandoned  and  the  provisions  cached,  as 
Mr.  Leicester  called  it,  under  an  oak-tree. 
Certain  things  had  been  forgotten,  but  just 
round  the  point  the  steeples  of  Riverport  were 
in  full  view ;  and  when  everybody  had  rested 
enough  and  the  tide  was  creeping  in,  Mr. 
Leicester  first  sent  Harry  out  in  the  small  boat 
and  his  long-legged  fishing-boots  to  get  two 
buckets  of  river  mud,  and  after  he  had  seated 
himself  beside  them  with  his  magnifying- 
glasses  and  a  paraphernalia  of  tools  familiar 
to  Betty,  Harry  was  given  orders  to  take 
Seth  Pond  and  the  two  girls  and  go  down  to 
Riverport  shopping,  as  soon  as  the  Starlight 
floated  again. 

Harry  was  hovering  over  the  scientific  en- 
terprise and  looked  sorry  for  a  minute,  but  it 
seemed  to  the  girls  as  if  the  tide  had  stopped 
rising.  At  last  they  got  on  board  by  going 
down  the  shore  a  little  way  to  be  taken  off  the 
sooner  from  some  rock.  Aunt  Barbara  an- 
nounced that  she  meant  to  go  too  ;  indeed,  she 
was  not  tired  ;  what  had  there  been  to  tire 
her  ?  So  off  they  all  went,  and  left  Mr.  Leices- 
ter to  his  investigations,  It  took  some  time 


264  BETTY  LEICESTER 

to  go  to  Riverport,  for  the  wind  was  light  and 
the  tide  against  them.  Everybody,  and  Betty 
in  particular,  thought  it  great  fun  to  make 
fast  to  the  wharf  and  go  ashore  up  into  the 
town  shopping.  Aunt  Barbara  gayly  stepped 
off  first,  to  see  an  old  friend  who  lived  a  little 
way  above  the  business  part  of  the  town,  and 
asked  to  be  called  for,  as  they  went  back,  at 
the  friend's  river  gate.  Harry  knew  it  ?  —  the 
high  house  with  the  lookout  on  top  and  the 
gate  at  the  garden  -  foot.  Betty  went  first 
to  find  her  early  friend,  the  woman  who  kept 
the  bake-house,  and  was  recognized  at  once 
and  provided  with  fresh  buns  and  crisp  mo- 
lasses cookies  which  had  hardly  cooled.  Then 
Betty  and  Becky  walked  about  the  narrow 
streets  for  an  hour,  enjoying  themselves  highly 
and  collecting  ship's  stores  at  two  or  three 
fruit  shops ;  also  laying  in  a  good  store  of 
chocolate,  which  Betty  proclaimed  to  be  very 
nourishing.  She  got  two  pots  of  her  favorite 
orange  marmalade  too,  in  case  they  made  toast 
for  supper. 

"  All  the  old  ladies  are  looking  out  of  their 
windows,  just  as  they  were  the  day  I  was 
coming  to  Tideshead,"  she  said  ;  and  Becky  re- 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  265 

plied  that  their  faces  were  always  at  just  the 
same  pane  of  glass.  The  fences  were  very 
high  and  had  their  tops  cut  in  points,  and  over 
them  here  and  there  drooped  the  heavy  bough 
of  a  fruit-tree  or  a  long  tendril  of  grapevine, 
as  if  there  were  delightful  gardens  inside.  The 
sidewalks  were  very  narrow  underneath  these 
fences,  so  that  Betty  often  walked  in  the  street 
to  be  alongside  her  companion.  There  were 
pretty  old  knockers  on  th3  front  doors,  and 
sometimes  a  parrot  hung  out  under  the  porch, 
and  shouted  saucily  at  the  passers-by.  Biver- 
port  was  a  delightful  old  town.  Betty  was 
sure  that  if  she  did  not  love  Tideshead  best 
she  should  like  to  belong  in  Kiverport,  and 
have  a  garden  with  a  river  gate,  and  a  great 
square  house  of  three  stories  and  a  lookout  on 
top. 

The  stores  were  put  on  board,  and  Seth 
Pond  came  back  from  researches  which  had 
been  rewarded  by  a  half -bushel  basket  full  of 
clams.  Then  they  swung  out  into  the  stream 
again,  and  ever  so  many  little  boys  with  four 
grown  men  on  the  wharf  gave  them  a  cheer. 
It  was  great  fun  stopping  for  Aunt  Barbara, 
who  was  in  the  garden  watching  for  them,  and 


266  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

was  escorted  by  a  charming  white-haired  old 
gentleman  who  teased  her  a  little  upon  her 
youthful  escapade,  and  a  younger  lady  who 
walked  sedately  under  an  antique  Chinese 
parasol.  Betty  sprang  ashore  to  greet  this 
latter  personage,  who  had  lately  paid  a  visit 
to  Miss  Barbara  at  Tideshead.  She  was  fond 
of  Miss  Marcia  Drummond. 

"  It  seems  like  old  times  to  have  you  going 
home  by  boat,"  said  Miss  Marcia,  kissing  Aunt 
Barbara  good -by.  "It  is  much  pleasanter 
than  a  car  journey.  Betty,  my  dear,  you  know 
that  your  aunt  is  a  very  rash  and  heedless 
person  ;  I  hope  you  will  hold  her  in  check.  I 
have  been  trying  to  persuade  her  that  she  will 
be  much  safer  to-night  in  one  of  our  old  four- 
posters  ;  "  and  so  they  said  good-by  merrily  and 
were  off  again,  while  the  young  people  in  the 
boat  looked  back  as  long  as  they  could  see  the 
old  garden  with  its  hollyhocks  and  lilies,  and 
the  two  figures  of  the  courtly  old  gentleman 
and  the  lady  with  the  parasol  going  up  the 
broad  walk. 

"What  a  good  thing  it  was  in  Tom  Leices- 
ter to  send  his  daughter  to  Tideshead  this  sum- 
mer !  "  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  I  think  that 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  267 

Barbara  is  renewing  her  youth.  Tom  is  a 
man  of  distinction,  and  yet  keeps  to  his  queer 
wild  ways.  You  are  sure  that  Barbara  quite 
understands  about  our  wishing  them  to  dine 
here  ?  I  think  this  camping  business  is  posi- 
tively foolish  conduct  in  a  person  of  her  age." 

But  Miss  Marcia  Drummond  looked  wist- 
fully over  her  shoulder  at  the  cat-boat's  lessen- 
ing sail,  and  wished  that  she  too  were  going  to 
spend  a  night  under  the  pines. 

A  little  way  up  the  river  they  passed  the 
packet  boat,  a  little  belated  and  heavily  laden, 
but  moving  steadily. 

"  Look  at  old  Step-an'-fetch-it,"  said  Seth. 
"  She  spears  all  the  little  winds  with  that 
peaked  sail  o'  hern.  Ain't  one  on  'em  can  git 
by  her."  They  kept  company  for  a  while,  un- 
til in  the  broad  river  bay  above  Riverport 
bridge  the  Starlight  skimmed  far  ahead,  like  a 
great  white  moth.  Seth  mentioned  that  folks 
would  think  they  was  settin'  up  a  navy  up  to 
Tideshead,  and  just  then  the  Starlight  yawed, 
and  the  boom  threw  Seth  off  his  balance  and 
nearly  overboard,  as  much  to  his  own  amuse- 
ment as  the  rest  of  the  ship's  company's. 
Betty  and  Mary  Beck  stowed  themselves 


268  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

away  before  the  mast,  and  wished  that  the 
sail  were  longer.  The  sun  was  low,  and  the 
light  made  the  river  and  the  green  shores  look 
most  beautiful.  Miss  Leicester  suggested  that 
they  should  sail  a  little  farther  before  going 
in,  and  so  they  went  as  far  as  the  next  reach, 
a  mile  above  the  camp,  on  the  accommodat- 
ing west  wind.  It  was  a  last  puff  before  sun- 
down, and  by  the  time  Harry  had  anchored 
the  Starlight  in  deeper  water  than  before,  her 
sail  drooped  in  the  perfectly  still  evening  air. 
Once  on  shore  everybody  was  busy;  the 
spruce  and  hemlock  boughs -must  be  arranged 
carefully  for  the  beds  and  the  tents  pitched 
over  them  before  the  August  dew  began  to  fall. 
Mr.  Leicester  was  chief  of  this  part  of  camp 
duty,  and  Miss  Barbara,  who  seemed  to  enjoy 
herself  more  every  moment,  was  allowed  by 
the  girls  to  help,  just  that  once,  about  getting 
supper.  It  was  growing  cool  and  the  fire  was 
not  unwelcome,  but  by  and  by  a  gentle  wind 
began  to  blow  and  kept  away  the  midges. 
Betty  began  to  think  that  there  would  be  no- 
thing left  for  breakfast  by  the  time  supper  was 
half  through,  but  she  managed  to  secrete  part 
of  her  cherished  buns,  and  reflected  that  it 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  269 

would  be  easy  to  send  to  Kiverport  for  further 
supplies  even  if  breakfast  were  a  little  late. 
Betty  felt  a  certain  care  and  responsibility 
over  the  whole  expedition,  it  was  so  delightful 
to  be  looking  after  papa  again ;  and  she  was 
obliged  to  tell  him  that  he  must  not  touch  the 
river  mud  any  more,  or  he  would  not  be  fit  to 
go  through  the  streets  of  Riverport  next  day, 
at  which  Mr.  Leicester,  though  deeply  attached 
to  his  old  friends  in  that  town,  looked  very 
distressed  and  unwilling. 

The  darkness  fell  fast,  and  the  supper  dishes 
had  to  be  put  under  some  bayberry  bushes  un- 
til morning.  The  salt  air  was  very  sweet  and 
fresh,  and  it  was  just  warm  enough  and  just 
cool  enough,  as  Betty  said.  The  stars  were 
bright ;  in  fact,  the  last  few  days  had  been 
much  more  like  June  than  August,  and  it  was 
what  English  people  call  Queen's  weather. 
Mary  Beck  said  sagely  that  it  must  be  because 
Miss  Leicester  came,  and  then  was  quite 
ashamed,  dear  little  soul,  not  understanding 
that  nothing  is  so  pleasant  to  an  older  woman 
as  to  find  herself  interesting  and  companiona- 
ble to  a  girl.  People  do  not  always  grow  away 
from  their  youth ;  they  add  to  it  experiences  and 


270  BETTY  LEICESTER, 

traits  of  different  sorts ;  and  it  is  easy  some- 
times to  throw  off  all  these,  and  find  the  boy 
or  the  girl  again,  eager  and  fresh  and  ready 
for  simple  pleasures,  and  to  make  new  begin- 
nings. 

Seth  Pond  had  stolen  out  to  the  cat-boat  on 
some  errand  of  his  own  which  nobody  ques- 
tioned, and  now  there  suddenly  resounded  the 
surprising  notes  of  his  violin.  It  was  very 
pretty  to  hear  his  familiar  old  tunes  over  the 
water,  and  everybody  respected  Seth's  amia- 
ble desire  to  afford  entertainment,  even  if  he 
failed  a  little  now  and  then  in  time  or  tone. 
He  had  mastered  several  old  Scottish  and 
English  airs  in  the  book  Betty  had  given  him, 
and  already  had  become  proficient  in  some 
lively  jigs  and  dancing  tunes,  as  we  knew  at 
the  time  of  Betty's  first  party  in  the  garden. 
The  clumsy  fellow  had  a  real  gift  for  music. 
Some  stray  fairy  must  have  passed  his  way 
and  left  an  unexpected  gift.  The  little  au- 
dience on  the  shore  were  ready  to  applaud, 
and  two  or  three  boats  came  near,  while  some 
young  people  in  one  began  to  sing  "  Bonny 
Doon,"  softly,  while  Seth  played,  and,  encour- 
aged by  the  applause,  went  on  more  boldly,  and 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  271 

took  up  the  strain  again  when  Seth  changed 
suddenly  to  "  Lochaber  no  more/'  Miss 
Leicester  was  overjoyed  when  she  heard  such 
fresh  young  voices  sing  the  plaintive  old  air 
so  readily.  It  had  always  been  a  great  favor- 
ite of  hers,  and  she  said  so  with  enthusiasm. 
Mary  Beck  was  sorry  that  she  never  had 
learned  it,  but  by  the  time  the  last  verse  came 
she  began  to  join  in  as  best  she  could. 

"I'll  bring  thee  a  heart  with  love  running  o'er, 
And  then  I  '11  leave  thee  and  Lochaber  no  more^" 

the  words  ended.  Nobody  who  heard  it  that 
summer  night  in  the  starlight  by  the  river 
shore  would  ever  forget  the  old  song. 

"  You  must  have  influenced  Seth's  choice  of 
music,"  Betty's  father  said  to  Aunt  Barbara, 
who  confessed  that  the  droning  of  the  violin 
over  cheap  music  was  more  than  she  could 
bear  at  first,  and  she  had  been  compelled  to 
suggest  something  in  the  place  of  "  The  Sweet 
By-and-By"  and  "Golden  Slippers."  Luck- 
ily, Seth  seemed  to  abandon  these  without 
regret. 

At  last  the  boats  all  disappeared  into  the 
darkness,  and  the  little  camp  was  made  ready 
for  night.  The  open  air  made  every  one 


272  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

sleepy  but  Miss  Barbara,  who  consoled  her- 
self by  thinking  that  if  she  did  not  sleep  it 
would  be  little  matter ;  she  had  been  awake 
many  a  night  in  her  life  and  felt  none  the 
worse.  But  in  fact  the  sound  of  rippling  water 
against  the  bank  and  the  sea-like  sound  of  the 
pine  boughs  overhead  sent  her  to  sleep  be- 
fore she  had  half  time  to  properly  enjoy  them. 
She  and  Betty  declared  that  their  thick-set 
evergreen  boughs  and  warm  blankets  made 
the  best  of  beds.  They  could  see  the  stars 
through  the  open  end  of  the  tent.  One  was  so 
bright  that  it  let  fall  a  slender  golden  track 
of  light  on  the  river.  Mary  Beck  thought 
that  she  had  never  been  so  happy.  Camping- 
out  had  always  been  such  a  far-off  thing,  and 
belonged  to  summer  tourists  and  the  remote 
unsettled  parts  of  country ;  but  here  she  was, 
close  to  her  own  home,  with  all  the  delights  of 
gypsy  life  suddenly  made  her  own.  Betty  and 
Betty's  friends  had  such  a  way  of  enjoying 
every-day  things.  Becky  was  learning  to  be 
happy  in  simple  ways  she  never  had  before. 
She  went  to  sleep  too,  and  the  stars  shone  on, 
and  late  in  the  night  the  waning  moon  came 
up,  strange  and  red ;  then  the  dawn  came 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  273 

creeping  into  the  morning  sky,  and  one  wild 
creature  after  another,  in  the  crevices  of  rocks 
or  branches  of  trees,  waked  and  went  its  ways 
silently  or  gay  with  song. 

When  Betty's  eyes  first  opened  she  could 
not  remember  where  she  was,  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  great  con- 
tentment, and  lay  still,  looking  out  through 
the  open  end  of  the  tent  across  the  wide  still 
river  down  which  some  birds  were  flying  sea- 
ward. It  was  most  beautiful  in  that  early 
morning  of  a  new  day,  and  from  beyond  the 
water  on  the  opposite  shore  came  the  far 
sweet  sound  of  a  woman's  voice  singing  as 
she  worked,  as  if  a  long-looked-for  day  had 
come  and  held  great  joy  for  her.  She  was 
singing  just  as  the  birds  sing,  and  Betty  tried 
to  fancy  how  she  looked  as  she  went  to  and 
fro  so  busily  in  one  of  the  farm-houses. 

Aunt  Barbara  did  not  wake  until  after  Betty, 
which  was  a  great  joy,  and  there  was  a  peal 
of  delighted  laughter  from  the  girls  when  she 
waked  and  found  their  bright  young  eyes 
watching  her.  She  complained  of  nothing,  ex- 
cept a  moment  of  fright  when  she  saw  her 
own  bonnet  at  the  top  of  a  lopped  fir  which 


274  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

had  been  stuck  into  the  ground  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  to  hang  her  raiment  on.  Her  wrap 
had  been  put  neatly  round  the  tree's  shoul- 
ders by  Betty,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  queer 
sort  of  skeleton  creature  with  every  sort  of 
garment  on  its  sharp  pegs  of  bones.  Nobody 
had  taken  the  least  bit  of  cold,  and  every- 
body was  as  cheerful  as  possible,  and  so  the 
day  began.  Seth  Pond  had  trudged  off  to 
get  some  milk  at  one  of  the  farm-houses,  and 
had  lighted  a  fire  before  he  went  and  covered 
it  with  bits  of  dry  turf,  which  served  to  keep 
it  in  as  well  as  peat.  Mr.  Leicester  com- 
plained that  he  had  found  the  tent  too  warm, 
and  so  had  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket  and 
spent  the  night  in  the  open  air.  Evidently  he 
and  Harry  Foster  had  been  awake  some  time, 
and  they  were  having  a  famous  talk  about 
one  of  the  treasured  creatures  in  the  muddy 
wooden  pail.  Harry  had  managed  to  learn  a 
great  deal  by  spending  an  hour  now  and  then 
in  a  famous  old  library  in  Riverport,  in  which 
Miss  Leicester  had  given  him  the  use  of  her 
share  ;  and  Betty  knew  that  her  father  was 
delighted  and  surprised  with  the  young  man's 
interest  in  his  own  favorite  studies.  She  had 


DOWN  THE  RIVER.  275 

felt  sure  all  summer  that  papa  would  know 
just  how  to  help  Harry  Foster  on,  and  as  she 
watched  them  she  could  not  help  thinking  that 
she  wished  Harry  were  her  brother.  But  then 
she  would  no  longer  have  entire  right  to  papa. 

"  Come,  Elizabeth  Leicester  !  "  said  papa, 
in  high  spirits.  "  I  never  had  such  a  dilatory 
damsel  to  make  my  first  tent  breakfast !  "  So 
Betty  hastened,  and  poked  the  fire  nearly  to 
death  in  her  desire  for  promptness  with  the 
morning  meal.  After  it  was  over  Miss  Leices- 
ter sat  in  the  shade  with  a  book,  while  all  the 
rest  went  fishing  and  took  a  long  sail  seaward 
beside. 

That  evening  they  went  home  with  the  tide, 
in  great  delight,  every  one.  Aunt  Barbara 
was  unduly  proud  of  her  exploits  and  a  sun- 
burnt nose,  and  the  younger  members  of  the 
party  were  a  little  subdued  from  their  first 
enthusiasm  by  all  sorts  of  exciting  pleasures. 
As  for  Harry  Foster,  the  lad  felt  as  if  a  door 
had  been  kindly  opened  in  the  solid  wall  of 
hindrance  which  had  closed  about  him,  and  as 
if  he  could  look  through  now  into  a  new  life. 


XVTL 

GOING  AWAY. 

Miss  LEICESTER  and  her  nephew,  Betty's 
father,  were  sitting  together  in  the  library. 
Betty  had  gone  to  bed.  It  was  her  last  night 
in  Tideshead,  and  the  summer  which  had  been 
so  long  to  look  forward  to  was  spent  and  gone. 
She  had  felt  very  sorry  before  she  went  to 
sleep,  and  thought  of  many  things  which  might 
have  been  better,  but  after  all  one  could  not 
help  being  very  rich  and  happy  with  so  many 
pleasures  to  remember.  When  she  thought 
how  many  new  friends  she  had  made,  and  how 
dear  all  the  old  ones  had  been,  and  that  she 
had  become  very  friendly  even  with  Mrs.  Beck, 
it  was  a  great  satisfaction.  And  now  in  less 
than  a  fortnight  she  was  to  be  with  Ada  and 
Bessie  Duncan  and  their  delightful  mother  in 
London  again.  She  certainly  had  a  great  deal 
to  look  forward  to ;  still  there  was  a  wistful 
feeling  in  her  heart  at  leaving  Tideshead. 


GOING  AWAY.  277 

There  had  been  a  fire  in  the  library  fire- 
place, for  the  evening  was  cool,  and  papa  and 
Aunt  Barbara  sat  opposite  each  other.  Papa 
was  smoking,  as  he  always  did  before  he  went 
to  bed  ;  and  happily  Miss  Leicester  liked  the 
odor  of  tobacco,  so  that  they  were  comfortable 
together.  They  were  talking  most  affection- 
ately about  Betty. 

"  I  think  you  have  done  wonderfully  with 
her,  Tom,"  said  the  aunt.  "  Nobody  knows 
how  anxious  your  Aunt  Mary  and  I  have  felt 
at  the  thought  of  your  carrying  her  hither 
and  yon,  and  spoiling  her  because  she  could  n't 
settle  down  to  regular  habits  of  life." 

"  The  only  way  is  not  to  let  one's  habits  be- 
come irregular,"  answered  Betty's  papa.  "  I 
found  out  long  ago  that  I  could  have  my  hours 
for  work  and  for  exercise,  and  could  go  on  with 
my  -reading  as  well  in  one  place  as  in  another. 
I  have  tried  not  to  let  Betty  see  too  many  people 
in  town  life,  yet  pretty  soon  she  will  be  sixteen. 
She  has  always  seemed  to  look  at  life  _  from 
a  child's  point  of  view  until  last  spring.  I 
don't  mean  that  she  does  n't  still  have  many 
days  when  she  only  considers  the  world's  rela- 
tion to  herself ;  but  on  the  whole  she  begins  to 


278  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

be  very  serious  about  her  own  relation  to  the 
world,  and  is  constantly  made  to  think  more  of 
what  she  can  give  than  of  what  she  can  get. 
This  is  a  very  trying  season  in  many  ways,  the 
first  really  hard  time  that  comes  into  a  boy's 
or  a  girl's  life." 

"  Yes,  and  one  is  constantly  learning  those 
lessons  in  one  way  and  another  during  all  the 
rest  of  one's  life,"  sighed  Aunt  Barbara.  Then 
her  face  lighted  up,  and  she  added,  "  Just  in 
proportion  as  she  thinks  that  she  does  things 
for  other  people  she  is  making  steps  upward 
for  herself." 

"  I  always  think  that  Betty  looks  like  Bew- 
ick's picture  of  the  robin  redbreast;  you  re- 
member it  ?  There  is  an  expression  to  its  little 
beak  which  always  reminds  me  of  my  girl." 

Aunt  Barbara  was  much  amused,  but  con- 
fessed that  she  remembered  it,  and  that  Betty 
and  the  bird  really  resembled  each  other.  "  I 
think  there  is  a  very  good  print  of  it  in  the 
large  White's  '  Selborne '  which  you  sent  me," 
she  said,  going  to  one  of  the  bookshelves  and 
taking  it  down.  "  Yes,  they  are  certainly  like 
one  another,"  she  repeated.  "  You  see  that 
this  copy  has  been  used  ?  I  lent  it  for  a  long 
time  to  my  young  neighbor,  Henry  Foster." 


GOING  AWAY.  279 

"  I  am  very  much  interested  in  that  lad !  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Leicester.  "  I  don't  know  that 
among  all  the  students  I  can  remember  I  have 
seen  one  who  strikes  me  as  being  so  intent 
and  so  really  promising.  Betty  has  written 
about  him,  but  I  imagined  that  he  interested 
her  because  he  had  a  boat  and  could  take  her 
out  on  the  river.  I  supposed  that  he  was  one 
of  the  idle  fellows  who  evade  their  honest 
work,  and,  with  a  smattering  of  pretty  tastes 
which  give  them  plenty  of  conceit,  come  to  no 
sort  of  use  in  the  end.  Betty  knows  enough 
of  my  hobbies  to  talk  about  his  fish  a  little, 
and  I  thought  it  was  all  girlish  nonsense  ; 
the  truth  is  that  she  has  shown  real  discern- 
ment of  character,  —  young  Foster  is  a  fine 
fellow." 

"  Can  you  do  anything  for  him  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Leicester.  "  I  pity  his  poor  mother  with 
all  my  heart.  She  is  very  ambitious  for  her 
son.  I  wish  that  he  could  earn  enough  for 
their  needs,  and  still  be  able  to  go  on  with 
some  serious  study.  Mrs.  Foster  and  the 
daughter  would  make  any  sacrifice,  but  they 
must  have  something  to  eat  and  to  wear.  I 
cannot  see  how  they  can  absolutely  do  with- 


280  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

out  him  even  if  his  own  expenses  are  paid. 
They  will  not  accept  charity." 

"  I  could  learn  by  talking  with  him  this 
evening  that  he  is  able  already  to  take  some 
minor  post  in  a  museum.  He  would  very  soon 
make  up  what  he  lacks  in  fitness,  if  we  could 
put  him  where  he  could  get  hold  of  the  proper 
books.  He  must  be  put  under  the  right  influ- 
ences, for  though  he  seems  to  have  energy, 
many  a  boy  with  an  unusual  gift  gets  stranded 
in  a  small  town  like  this,  and  becomes  less 
useful  in  the  end  than  if  he  were  like  every- 
body else." 

"  I  think  it  has  been  a  great  thing  for  him 
to  be  developed  on  the  every-day  side,  and  to 
have  care  and  even  trouble,"  said  Miss  Leices- 
ter. "  Now  I  wish  to  see  the  exceptional  side 
of  him  have  a  chance.  I  stand  ready  to  help 
at  any  point,  you  must  remember." 

"  I  can  give  him  some  work  at  once,  with 
the  understanding  that  he  is  to  study  at  Cam- 
bridge this  winter.  I  have  plans  for  next 
summer  in  which  he  could  be  of  great  service. 
We  will  not  say  too  much,  but  keep  our  own 
counsel  until  we  watch  him  a  little  longer." 

Aunt  Barbara  nodded  emphatically,  but  for 


GOING  AWAY.  281 

her  part  she  felt  no  doubt  of  Harry  Foster's 
power  of  keeping  at  his  work ;  then  she  pro- 
posed another  subject  of  personal  concern,  and 
they  talked  a  long  time  in  the  pleasant  old 
library,  among  the  familiar  books  and  pictures, 
until  the  fire  had  given  its  last  flicker  and  set- 
tled quietly  down  into  a  few  red  coals  among 
the  gray  ashes. 

Every  one  was  glad  to  know  that  Harry's 
collection  of  fishes  and  insects  and  his  sci- 
entific tastes  had  won  great  approval  from  a 
man  of  Mr.  Leicester's  fame,  and  that  the  boy 
was  to  be  forwarded  in  his  studies  as  fast  as 
possible. 

Who  shall  tell  the  wonder  of  th«  town  over 
a  phonograph  which  Mr.  Leicester  brought 
with  him  ?  In  fact,  the  last  of  the  summer 
seemed  altogether  the  pleasantest,  and  papa 
and  Betty  had  a  rare  holiday  together.  Aunt 
Mary  and  Aunt  Barbara,  Serena  and  Letty, 
and  Seth  and  Jonathan  were  all  in  a  whirl 
from  morning  until  night.  Serena  thought 
that  the  phonograph  was  an  invention  of  the 
devil,  and  after  hearing  the  uncanny  little 
machine  repeat  that  very  uncomplimentary 


282  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

remark  which  she  had  just  made  about  it, 
she  was  surer  than  before.  Serena  did  not 
relish  being  called  an  invention  of  the  evil 
one,  herself,  but  it  does  not  do  to  call  names 
at  a  phonograph. 

"It  was  lonely  when  I  first  came,"  said 
Betty,  the  evening  before  she  was  to  go  away, 
as  she  walked  to  and  fro  between  the  box- 
borders  with  her  father,  "  but  I  like  every- 
body better  and  better,  —  even  poor  Aunt 
Mary,"  she  added  in  a  whisper.  "  It  is  lovely 
to  live  in  Tideshead.  Sometimes  one  gets 
cross,  though,  and  it  is  so  provoking  about  the 
left-out  ones,  and  the  won't-play  ones,  and  the 
ones  that  want  everything  done  some  other 
way,  and  then  let  you  do  it  after  all.  But  I 
thought  at  first  it  was  going  to  be  so  stupid, 
and  that  nobody  would  like  any  of  the  things 
I  did;  and  here  is  Mary  Picknell,  who  can 
paint  beautifully,  and  Harry  Foster  knows  so 
many  of  the  things  you  do,  and  George  Max 
is  going  to  be  a  sea-captain,  and  so  is  Jim 
Beck,  and  poor  dear  Becky  can  sing  like  a  bird 
when  she  feels  good-natured.  Why,  papa, 
dear,  I  do  believe  that  there  is  one  person  in 


GOING  AWAY.  283 

Tideshead  of  every  kind  in  the  world.  And 
Aunt  Barbara  is  a  duchess !  " 

"I  never  saw  so  grand  a  duchess  as  your 
Aunt  Barbara  in  her  very  best  gown,"  said 
Betty's  papa,  "  but  I  have  n't  seen  all  the 
duchesses  there  are  in  existence." 

"Oh,  papa,  do  let  us  come  and  live  here 
together,"  pleaded  the  girl,  with  shining  eyes. 
"  Must  you  go  back  to  England  for  very  long  ? 
After  I  see  Mrs.  Duncan  and  the  rest  of  the 
people  in  London,  I  am  so  afraid  I  shall  be 
homesick.  You  can  keep  on  having  the  cubby- 
house  for  a  very  private  study,  and  I  know 
you  could  write  beautifully  on  the  rainy  days, 
when  the  elm  branches  make  such  a  nice  noise 
on  the  roof.  Oh,  papa,  do  let  us  come  some 
time ! " 

"  Some  time,"  repeated  Mr.  Leicester,  with 
great  assurance.  "  How  would  next  summer 
do,  for  instance?  I  have  been  talking  with 
Aunt  Barbara  about  it,  and  we  have  a  grand 
plan  for  the  writing  of  a  new  book,  and  hav- 
ing some  friends  of  mine  come  here  too,  and 
for  the  doing  of  great  works.  I  shall  need  a 
stenographer,  and  we  are  "  — 

"  Those    other    people    could   live    at    the 


284  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

Fosters'  and  Becks',''  Betty  interrupted,  de- 
lightedly entering  into  the  plans.  She  was 
used  to  the  busy  little  colonies  of  students  who 
gathered  round  her  father.  "  Here  comes  Mr. 
Marsh,  the  teacher  of  the  academy,  to  see 
you,"  and  she  danced  away  on  the  tips  of  her 
toes. 

"  Serena  and  Letty !  I  am  coming  back  to 
stay  all  next  summer,  and  papa  too,"  she  said, 
when  she  reached  the  middle  of  the  kitchen. 

"  Thank  the  goodness  !  "  said  Serena. 
"  Only  don't  let  your  pa  bring  his  talking-ma- 
chine to  save  up  everybody's  foolish  speeches. 
Your  aunt  said  this  morning  that  what  I  ought 
to  ha'  said  into  it  was,  i  Miss  Leicester,  we  're 
all  out  o'  sugar.'  But  the  sugar 's  goin'  to  last 
longer  when  you  're  gone.  I  expect  we  shall 
miss  you,"  said  the  good  woman,  with  great 
feeling. 

Now,  everything  was  to  be  done  next  sum- 
mer :  all  the  things  that  Betty  had  forgotten 
and  all  that  she  had  planned  and  could  not 
carry  out.  It  was  very  sad  to  go  away,  when 
the  time  came.  Poor  Aunt  Mary  fairly  cried, 
and  said  that  she  was  going  to  try  hard  to  be 
better  in  health,  so  that  she  could  do  more 


GOING  AWAY.  285 

for  Betty  when  she  came  next  year,  and  she 
should  miss  their  reading  together,  sadly  ;  and 
Aunt  Barbara  held  Betty  very  close  for  a  min- 
ute, and  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my  darling," 
though  she  had  never  called  her  "my  dar- 
ling "  before. 

And  Captain  Beck  came  over  to  say  good- 
by,  and  wished  that  they  could  have  gone 
down  by  the  packet  boat,  as  Betty  came,  and 
gave  our  friend  a  little  brass  pocket-compass, 
which  he  had  carried  to  sea  many  years.  The 
minister  came  to  call  in  the  evening,  with  his 
girls;  and  the  dear  old  doctor  came  in  next 
morning,  though  he  was  always  in  a  hurry, 
and  kissed  Betty  most  kindly,  and  held  her 
hand  in  both  his,  while  he  said  that  he  had 
lost  a  good  deal  of  practice,  lately,  because  she 
kept  the  young  folks  stirring,  and  he  did  not 
know  about  letting  her  come  back  another 
summer. 

But  when  poor  Mrs.  Foster  came,  with 
Nelly,  and  thanked  Betty  for  bringing  a  ray 
of  sunshine  into  her  sad  home,  it  was  almost 
too  much  to  bear ;  and  good-by  must  be  said 
to  Becky,  and  that  was  harder  than  anything, 
until  they  tried  to  talk  about  what  they  would 


286  BETTY  LEICESTER. 

do  next  summer,  and  how  often  they  must 
write  to  each  other  in  the  winter  months  be- 
tween. 

"  Why,  sometimes  I  have  been  afraid  that 
you  did  n't  like  me,"  said  Betty,  as  her  friend's 
tears  again  began  to  fall. 

"  It  was  only  because  I  did  n't  like  myself," 
said  dear  Becky  forlornly.  It  was  a  most  sad 
and  affectionate  leave-taking,  but  there  were 
many  things  that  Becky  would  like  to  think 
over  when  her  new  old  friend  had  fairly  gone. 

"  I  never  felt  as  if  I  really  belonged  to  any 
place,  until  now.  You  must  always  say  that 
I  am  Betty  Leicester  of  Tideshead,"  said  Betty 
to  her  father,  after  she  had  looked  back  in 
silence  from  the  car  window  for  a  long  time. 
Aunt  Barbara  had  come  to  the  station  with 
them,  and  was  taking  the  long  drive  home 
alone,  with  only  Jonathan  and  the  slow  horses. 
Betty's  thoughts  followed  her  all  along  the 
familiar  road.  Last  night  she  had  put  the 
little  red  silk  shawl  back  into  her  trunk  with 
a  sorry  sigh.  Everybody  had  been  so  good 
to  her,  while  she  had  done  so  little  for  any 
one! 

But  Aunt  Barbara  was  really  dreading  to 


GOING  AWAY.  287 

go  back  to  the  old  house,  she  knew  that  she 
should  miss  Betty  so  much. 

Papa  was  reading  already ;  he  always  read 
in  the  cars  himself,  but  he  never  liked  to  have 
Betty  do  so.  He  looked  up  now,  and  something 
in  his  daughter's  face  made  him  put  down  his 
book.  She  was  no  longer  only  a  playmate; 
her  face  was  very  grave  and  sweet.  "  I  must 
try  not  to  scurry  about  the  world  as  I  have 
done,"  he  thought,  as  he  glanced  at  Betty 
again  and  again.  "  We  ought  to  have  a  home, 
both  of  us ;  her  mother  would  have  known. 
A  girl  should  grow  up  in  a  home,  and  get  a 
girl's  best  life  out  of  the  cares  and  pleasures 
of  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  won't  wish  to  come  down 
to  the  hospitalities  of  lodgings  this  winter,' 
said  Mr.  Leicester.  "  Perhaps  we  had  better 
look  for  a  comfortable  house  of  our  own  near 
the  Duncans." 

"  Oh,  we  're  sure  to  have  the  best  of  good 
times  !  "  said  Betty  cheerfully,  as  if  there  were 
danger  of  his  being  low-spirited.  "  We  must 
wait  about  all  that,  papa,  dear,  until  we  are  in 
London." 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


APR 


2    1970 

U9W' 

1980 


10m-ll,'50  (2555)470 


1158  00480  1220 


